


A Long Time Ago

by wordslinging



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Claustrophobia, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Ficlet Collection, First Kiss, Friendship, Gen, Light Dom/sub, Married Life, Mild Kink, Mind Control, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pregnancy, Romance, Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-07 20:49:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 27,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6823615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordslinging/pseuds/wordslinging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My entry into the "place to collect all the little bits of fic I write about my SWTOR OCs" genre. Probably going to be mostly shippy nonsense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Freedom (Jass/Corso)

**Author's Note:**

> Dramatis personae are [here](http://meletelegacy.tumblr.com/swtorcharacters), and chapters will be tagged with the character and/or pairing they focus on. Unless otherwise stated, everything follows the canon storyline.
> 
> First up is my Twi'lek Smuggler, Jass, with some backstory and flirting with Corso.

Jass'orish is born underground, and the first time she ever makes it topside and sees the stars, she knows she has to get out there somehow.

She’s still a kid when she makes her way to Lessu, but she grows up fast on the streets there. She learns about ships, languages, how to talk her way out of trouble–anything and everything she can, including what she is or isn’t willing to do to get off Ryloth. She gets her chance when a couple of spacers stumble into the city after crashing out in the Bright Lands, having lost the only two members of their crew who spoke Twi'leki, and she never looks back.

The captain of that crew is a foul-mouthed, cantankerous drunk, but he treats his crew fairly and never does business with slavers, and Jass hasn’t been in his crew a month when he pistol-whips a man in a Corellian spaceport who leers and asks if she’s for hire. He teaches her how to fly and shoot and play Sabacc, to always trust her gut and remember that one of a captain’s chief responsibilities is to take care of their crew.

And then one day they land a big score, the kind you retire on, and the captain tells her he’s getting too old to keep traipsing around the galaxy and wants to take his share and find a nice world to settle on, and just like that she has her own ship.

Jass tells all this to Corso in bits and pieces–on the shuttle from Ord Mantell to Coruscant when she’s twitchy and anxious and needs a distraction, lounging around the back room of the Dealer’s Den while they wait for Darmas to come back with news, when she finally, _finally_ gets back in the cockpit of her own ship and Corso stations himself at the copilot’s position like he’s done it a million times and neither of them questions it.

The story about her old captain pistol-whipping the guy on Corellia, she tells him on Taris. It’s just the two of them–Bowdaar, she thinks, is more than content to sit quietly on the ship doing no one’s bidding but his own, and Risha made an impressively disgusted face at the idea of accompanying them to what passes for a cantina in Olaris Spaceport.

“Eh, this might not be the nicest world I’ve been to,” Jass says, settling into a booth and passing Corso one of the drinks she insisted on paying for. “But at least we’re not on Nar Shaddaa anymore.”

“I’ll drink to that,” he says emphatically. “I’m a little surprised to hear you say it, though. Figured you’d rather still be on a world like that than here.”

Jass shrugs. “Nar Shaddaa’s a lot more colorful and the bars have a better drink selection, I’ll give it that. But it’s a Hutt Cartel world. I don’t care how exciting it is, I don’t like being there.”

She doesn’t bother keeping the disgust out of her voice at the mention of Hutts, and Corso nods with a solemn look.

“Makes sense, I guess. You really hate them, huh?”

Jass slouches down in her side of the booth, putting her feet up. “I hate anyone who treats my people like accessories. Or any people, really. Assuming all Hutts are in that category until proven otherwise saves time.”

“That why you were so quick to step in for Bowdaar?”

“I–yeah.” Anger still flares up inside her when she thinks about how Drooga used the Wookiee and then tried to dispose of him, how Bowdaar told her he’d been a slave for a hundred years. It seems absurd to get this protective of a seven-foot killing machine who she hasn’t even known that long, but Jass already feels like she’d kill anyone who tried to hurt him. “I know you weren’t crazy about a Wookiee joining the crew–”

Corso shrugs. “I’m gettin’ used to him. Besides, you’re the boss, captain.”

She smirks, toasting him with her drink. “And don’t you forget it. But yeah, I wasn’t gonna leave anyone in a situation like that if I could help it. I’ve been lucky to avoid that kind of life myself–back on Ryloth, I saw a lot of Twi'leks sign onto ‘contracts’ that were basically selling themselves into slavery, just to get offworld.”

Corso’s looking at her like he wants to say something sweet and noble and a little bit naive, the kind of thing that always leaves Jass not knowing if she wants to make fun of him or kiss him or both. She beats him to the punch. “Did I ever tell you about what happened the first time I went to Corellia?”

He gets a kick out of the story, like she expected he would. “He just hauled off and hit the guy? I think I like this old captain of yours.”

Jass grins. “You’d definitely like him. He was a crook, but a crook with honor, y'know? He taught me how to be a captain, and he looked out for me until I could look out for myself.”

Corso smiles at her. “Is he still around somewhere? Because I’d like to shake his hand for that someday if I could.”

“Last I heard, he’s still kicking around the Outer Rim somewhere. Maybe I’ll look him up if this treasure hunt of Risha’s takes us out that way. Speaking of which–” she pauses, downing the last of her drink. “We should probably go find this Beryl Thorne. You ready to head out?”

Corso nods. “Right behind you, captain.”


	2. Questionable Choices (Jass/Corso)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jass has no sense of self-preservation. Risha and Corso are not amused.

“…You did _what_?”

In different circumstances, Jass thinks, this would be funny: Corso and Risha speaking practically in unison, the two of them in perfect agreement for once. It’s less funny when the thing they’re united in is staring at her in a mix of disbelief and horror.

“…Let a Republic doctor inject me with an experimental vaccine for the rakghoul virus and then purposefully let a rakghoul bite me so we could test whether it worked or not?” Jass pauses, reviewing that statement in her mind. “Okay, when I say it like _that_ , it sounds crazy, but Doctor Cel made her case very convincingly.” They’re both still looking at her like she just suggested they all go back to Nar Shaddaa and become permanent members of Drooga the Hutt’s entourage. She looks over her shoulder at Bowdaar. “Bowie, come on, back me up here.”

Bowdaar leans back and folds his arms, giving a amused-sounding huff that she takes to mean she’s on her own.

“Don’t think you’re not in trouble, too, big guy,” Corso says. “You were supposed to be looking out for the captain, and you just let her go through with something like that?”

The series of roars and grunts Bowdaar gives in response makes Corso furrow his brow and look from Jass to Risha and back. “My Shyriiwook’s still pretty shaky, what’d he say?”

“As best as I can translate it, he said ‘I didn’t _let_ her do anything, have you _met_ her?’” Risha says, looking amused. “And he’s got a point. Can’t say I would have done the same in your place, captain, but I have to admire your courage.”

Jass looks down at the spot where a kolto patch still covers the bite on her arm. “Eh, it wasn’t so bad. Bite still itches like crazy, but the doc’s medical droid fixed me up good. And I promise if I _do_ start hungering for anyone’s delicious, delicious flesh, I’ll give plenty of advance warning so you can lock me in the cargo hold. Deal?”

That gets a laugh out of Risha, but Corso still doesn’t look amused. Later, when it’s just the two of them in the cockpit, Jass puts her hand on his arm.

“Hey. I’m really okay, I promise.”

“I know you are,” he says quietly, looking down at the patch on her arm. He skims his hand over it carefully, then curls his fingers around her wrist. “I don’t like you putting yourself in that kind of danger, but I know I can’t ask you to stop taking risks.”

“Well, you’re right about that.” Jass steps closer, smiling up at him in the hopes of teasing a smile out of him as well. “You knew what you were getting into with me, sweetheart.”

He looks up to meet her eyes with a crooked little smile. “Yeah, I did.” He lifts his other hand to her face, brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers, and his expression turns serious again. “Just…don’t do it lightly, okay? I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

“Hey, trust me, I don’t plan on getting lost.” Jass turns her hand over and tangles her fingers with his. “And if it helps, having you in my life is pretty good incentive to only put myself on the line for a good reason.”

He smiles, stroking her cheek. “That does help.”

Jass leans up to kiss him, and then, feeling only a _little_ bad for it, nips at his bottom lip with a passable imitation of a rakghoul’s snarl.

Corso rears back to look at her. “That was uncalled for, captain,” he says, trying to sound disapproving, but Jass can tell he’s struggling not to smile.


	3. The L Word (Jass/Corso)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little tag for the "I love you" conversation with Corso.

They say it a long time before they actually say it, in a lot of different ways. They say it with _good morning_ and _I was gonna grab something to eat, you hungry?_ and _I’ll take the helm for a while, you go get some rest_ , with _are you okay?_ and _there’s no one I’d rather have at my back_ and _that oughta fix you_.

They say it plenty of ways without words, too; hands on shoulders when one of them comes into the cockpit to find the other sitting there looking out at the stars, well-timed assists on the battlefield, hot cups of caf on mornings when the holoterminal starts beeping _too blasted early_. Corso says it with blasters kept cleaned and polished to within an inch of their lives, Jass says it with the things she picks up in her travels that make her think _Corso would like this_.

They both feel it and they both know it, but that doesn’t mean Jass’s heart isn’t in her throat the first time Corso says it, or that it’s easy for her to say back. It’s easy to show it–to lean in close and kiss him, her hand on his chest and his pressed against the small of her back, to take his hand and pull him down the hall to her bunk, to lie in his arms afterward feeling more content than she knew she could be. It seems like saying it should be easy, too, but even now her first impulse is to make some dumb joke or smartass remark, and she has to stop herself and take a deep breath before just saying it, simple and honest.

“I love you, too, Corso.”

“It’s good to hear you say that,” he replies softly.

“It’s not something I have a lot of practice saying.” Jass lifts her head from his shoulder, meeting his eyes. “But I don’t ever want you to think it’s not true. I love you.”

“Even when I’m being a dumb country boy with old-fashioned ideas?” Corso asks, lifting a hand to cup her cheek.

She smiles teasingly. “If you still love me when I’m charging into fights where we’re outnumbered and bringing Mandalorians and Jedi impersonators back to the ship to live with us.”

He leans forward to kiss her, smiling against her mouth. “Deal.”


	4. Honeymoon Period (Jass/Corso)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jass and Corso let the crew know they got married on the bridge like a couple of hopeless romantic dorks, and then they go to Port Nowhere for a combination reception/honeymoon.

When they call everyone together on the ship’s intercom the next morning, Jass thinks the others are probably expecting some sort of briefing that’s very different from what they end up getting.

“We wanted to let you all know,” she says, looking over at Corso with a giddy, still-getting-used-to-the-fact-that-this is real smile, “that Corso and I got married last night.”

Guss is the first to react, stepping forward to shake both their hands while smiling about as wide as a Mon Calamari can. “Congratulations! If I’d known you were planning a wedding I would have offered my services as an officiant. I _am_ an ordained minister in three different belief systems, after all–”

“Any of those ordinations legal and above-board?” Jass asks, and when he hesitates, she laughs and punches his shoulder lightly. “Never mind. And thanks. And…we didn’t exactly put much planning into it.”

“Wait, you _got_ married?” Risha asks, as if she’s just parsing that part. “Not ‘we’re getting married’? Because I think I would have noticed if there was a wedding on this ship last night.”

“Well, it was pretty much just the two of us in the cockpit,” Corso says, exchanging glances with Jass.

“Corso pointed out that as a captain, I’m licensed by the Republic to officiate weddings on my ship,” she says. “And I’m _pretty_ sure there’s nothing anywhere that says it can’t be my own wedding…”

“And I guess neither of us saw any reason to wait, so…”

Jass waves her hands in a _ta-da!_ gesture. “Married!”

Bowdaar’s the next to step forward, pulling Jass into a one-armed hug and putting his other hand on Corso’s shoulder.

 _“I’m glad to see you so happy,”_ he says to Jass, and then to Corso, _“If you ever hurt her I’ll rip your arms off, but as long as you make her happy I’ll rip the arms off anyone who tries to hurt you.”_

“Uh, thanks, buddy,” Corso says, patting his arm a bit cautiously. “I guess.”

Jass smiles, hugging Bowdaar around the middle. “Thanks. He might be my best guy, but you’re still my best Wookiee.”

Risha still looks nonplussed. “I just don’t get you two, sometimes. As far as I’m concerned, the only good reasons to get married are for a political alliance or an excuse to throw a party. Well, and wedding gifts don’t hurt, I suppose.”

“Oh, gifts, that’s a good idea!” Guss interjects. “You should put an announcement up on the Holonet so people can send us–I mean, you, gifts.”

“I disagree,” Akaavi says in her calm, 'I’m going to tell you exactly how wrong you are but it’s nothing personal’ manner. “Marriages should give strength and stability to one’s clan and provide a good support network for raising offspring.” She looks at Jass and Corso assessingly. “I assume this will not affect the chain of command among the crew?”

“Nope,” they both say at once.

Akaavi nods, seeming satisfied, and then looks Corso up and down. “I’ve seen how loyal he is to you and he’s not useless in a fight, captain. You could do worse.”

“I…think that’s the most almost-nice thing you’ve ever said about me, Akaavi,” Corso says with a wry smile. “I’m touched.”

“You are not what I would choose in a mate,” she tells him frankly. “But since you are the Captain’s choice, I wish you a long and good life together.”

“Aww, c'mon, don’t you start gettin’ all mushy on us now,” Jass says, and then holds out a hand, which Akaavi clasps firmly. “Thank you.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Risha says, stepping forward. She gives Jass a quick hug, then holds out a hand to Corso. “Judging by how happy you two seem to make each other, you must be doing something right. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Corso says, shaking her hand. “And hey, just because we didn’t take the time for a big ceremony doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate now. What do you say, captain?”

He puts a hand on her hip, and Jass leans into him with a smile (somehow, the fact that he’s still calling her 'captain’ doesn’t seem odd, probably because he manages to make it sound like an endearment). “Eh, the Republic probably won’t fall into total chaos if we stop over at Port Nowhere for a bit before we keep looking for Rogun. Should we call ahead and tell Darmas to make sure they’re stocked up on the good liquor?”

“Leave all the arrangements to me,” Risha says with a smirk. “Call it your first wedding gift.”

***

They end up staying docked at Port Nowhere for five days straight. Risha’s arrangements include finding temporarily lodging for the rest of the crew so that Jass and Corso can have some privacy aboard the ship (“…You mean we’ve got the _whole ship_ to ourselves?” Jass asks, to which Risha replies “I don’t want to know _anything about_ what you do with that fact, just enjoy it”), and putting the word out about the marriage.

Darmas keeps opining on what a shame it is for a woman like Jass to tie herself down, but he also keeps buying everyone drinks. Most of the other friends they’ve made while knocking around the galaxy couldn’t get to Port Nowhere themselves on such short notice, but once they’ve been there a few days, gifts start arriving. The Republic governor of Ord Mantell sends a matching pair of brand-new blasters. House Organa sends a set of delicate gold-and-crystal stemware that’s probably worth more than the ship, along with a smaller, more discreet package containing some flimsy shimmersilk garments that make Corso turn an interesting shade of red when Jass holds them up. Rogun the Butcher sends three bounty hunters who, when the whole crew draws on them and Jass asks sweetly “Now, do you boys _really_ want to start a firefight in the middle of my wedding reception?”, decide that the answer is no.

Even more than the gifts, Jass is floored by the letters of congratulation and well-wishes they keep getting. Every time she or Corso check their inboxes there are more of them–from Beryl Thorne, from Jettison, from Alilia, who’s still taking care of Trick on Tython, from Danla Zin and the rest of the Balmorran Resistance.

“I hadn’t even realized we _knew_ this many people,” Jass says on the last night before they plan to head out again. She’s lying on her stomach in bed, propped up on her elbows with a datapad in front of her, and scrolling through a letter that’s primarily from Supervisor Aldough but has the names of seemingly every Ortolan on Hoth attached to it.

Corso settles on the bed next to her, leaning down to kiss her bare shoulder. “You’ve made a big difference in a lot of people’s lives.”

Jass puts the datapad aside and rolls over to face him. “ _We_ have. I probably wouldn’t have gone in for half the heroics we’ve pulled off if you weren’t hanging around being a good influence. It’s really inconvenient sometimes.”

“Uh-uh, sweetheart, I know you too well for that,” Corso tells her with a grin. “You’re just as much of a do-gooder as I am when it comes to people needing help.”

Jass sits up, drawing her legs up and leaning her elbows on her knees. “Guilty as charged. I’m still blaming you for the fact that I ended up going so legit, though. Back in the day, I never exactly saw myself officially working for the Republic.”

“Do you ever regret it?” he asks, and she makes a thoughtful face, pulling her mouth to one side.

“I wouldn’t say 'regret’ so much as 'wonder what it would be like if I went a different way’. Like, this thing with Darmas where he keeps trying to convince me I should take over Rogun’s criminal empire?”

Corso’s brow furrows. “What about it?”

“Do I think sometimes about what it would be like to be an intergalactically known and feared pirate queen? Sure. I mean, _obviously_ I do, what girl wouldn’t? But then I think about what I’ve been able to do as a privateer–the people we’ve helped and the fact that I’ve managed to turn some nice profits while still being able to go to sleep with a clear conscience at the end of the day–and I think 'nah, I’ve got a pretty good thing going here’.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.” Corso leans forward to kiss her, then pulls back and says thoughtfully, “You _would_ make a pretty good pirate queen, though.”

“Oh, I’d be _so_ good at it!” Jass declares, waving her hands around enthusiastically. “I’d wear all black and have one of those nicknames that sounds really sexy and dangerous at the same time, like…like…well, see, now I put myself on the spot and I can’t think of anything. But it’d be _good_.”

Corso laughs, tugging her into his arms and flopping back on the bed. “Just as well. Sexy and dangerous pirate queen sounds fun, but I kinda like bein’ married to a hero of the Republic, instead.”

Jass makes herself comfortable on top of him, then leans down for a kiss. “Me too.”


	5. Intentions (Chrisera/Felix)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, for whatever reason, my Consular, Chrisera, had the conversation with Qyzen where he calls Felix your mate and offers you courting gifts for him before she actually had her first kiss with Felix. I ran with it.

“Why did you call him that?”

For Chrisera to interrupt Qyzen while he’s speaking is a rare enough occurrence that the Trandoshan stops at once, seeming concerned.

 _“Have I given offense, Herald?”_ he asks.

“Felix is not my–we aren’t courting,” Chrisera says, her face feeling very warm suddenly. _Although some of our conversations would likely garner some disapproval from the Council…_

Qyzen bows his head contritely. _“Have spoken foolishly, then. Pardon.”_

“It’s all right, Qyzen, I know you didn’t mean any offense,” she tells him. “But…what made you think we were?”

Her cheeks are still hot, and she can imagine how flushed she must be right now–which is _absurd_ , she’s a _Jedi Master_. She’s fought Sith Lords and salvaged peace talks and turned down propositions from Tharan Cedrax, and none of those things had her losing control of her own body’s reactions like this.

 _“Have seen how Iresso is with you. How he looks and speaks and acts,”_ Qyzen explains. _“And how you are with him, Herald–different than with others on the ship. Different from when soft thing Cedrax tried to court you.”_ He pauses, cocking his head to one side. _“But perhaps I have misread signs?”_

“I…have grown to care for Felix, and I suppose I can’t deny I find him attractive,” Chrisera admits. Which doesn’t begin to cover the way something inside her flutters anxiously when their eyes meet, the way her pulse sped up unexpectedly when he asked to be assigned to her ship or the first time she found herself alone in a room with him. “But Jedi don’t–we’re not exactly supposed to have mates. Or courtships.”

 _“You do many things different from other Jedi,”_ Qyzen points out. _“No other Jedi is Scorekeeper’s Herald, or holds title of Barsen'thor. And not many Jedi call a Trandoshan friend.”_

“That is true,” Chrisera says, giving him a fond smile. “But…the idea of romance still strikes me as a very different matter.” A new thought occurs to her, and she frowns. “Do you think any of the others have noticed the same things you have?”

Qyzen spreads his hands. _“Difficult to say. Many others aboard are clever, but often seem caught up in own concerns.”_ With obvious pride, he adds, _“And none have known or hunted with Herald so long as I have.”_

“True again.” Chrisera shifts to lean against the railing behind her, folding her arms. “You know me better than anyone on the ship. Perhaps even better than myself. I need to meditate on this, Qyzen. I’m sure I can trust you to say nothing about it to Felix?”

 _“Would not break confidence,”_ he says, and then adds thoughtfully, _“Pelt can also be gift at start of courtship, to declare intention.”_

“Thank you, but…I think Felix prefers women who don’t surprise him with Wookiee pelts.”

 _“Truly? Is unworthy mate for Scorekeeper’s Herald, then,”_ Qyzen declares. He’s so clearly offended by the thought that Felix would scorn the idea of being courted with Wookiee pelts that Chrisera has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing and offending him further.

 _“We must attend to hunt,”_ he says after a moment, and they move on to discussing his search for Venab. The change of subject is a welcome one, but Chrisera knows Qyzen’s earlier words will stay with her long after their conversation is over.


	6. All That Time (Tig/Lana)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, when you have a stalwartly Light Side Jedi knight romance a pragmatic Sith Lord, there are ideological clashes.
> 
> And then sometimes the Knight gets stuck in carbonite for five years when the last conversation they had with their Sith girlfriend was an argument.

“You were looking for me all that time?" 

"Is it really any surprise?” Lana asks, and Tiganus’s heart leaps at the warmth in her eyes and her voice. 

She’s been waiting, hoping to hear that tone ever since Lana freed her from the carbonite, but they’ve been running or fighting or tramping through a swamp full of aggressive wildlife or trying to clean centuries’ worth of overgrowth and filth out of the Gravestone, so Lana’s been in business mode and Tig hasn’t tried to get her to be anything else. Now, at least, they’re alone with no urgent tasks to be done and nothing around that wants to kill them. 

She takes a step closer, looking down with a wry smile. “Well, I mean. We didn’t exactly leave things on a great note, last time we saw each other.” 

“No,” Lana agrees solemnly. “Ziost took its toll on us in more ways than one, didn’t it?" 

Tiganus wonders if the memory is as vivid for Lana as it is for her; the rising desperation as everything they tried to stop Vitiate proved a temporary measure at best, the anger and disappointment on Lana’s face when Tig sided with Theron about Master Surro’s fate, and the harshness of her parting words: _You may have killed us all! I hope you’re happy!_

In that moment, duty to the Order and the Republic and the galaxy be damned, Tig had wanted nothing more than to run after Lana and try to make her understand. Try to explain that where Lana, pragmatic as ever, saw an asset too valuable not to be used, Tig saw a woman who could have been her in another life. 

_I know what it’s like to have him in your head,_ she’d wanted to say. _What it’s like to fight him for control and lose. She’s suffered enough, Lana._

Now, years and so many miles from Ziost, she says, "I meant to look for you once the chaos died down. I wanted to let you know my feelings for you hadn’t changed, even after what happened. But…" 

"But things there only got worse,” Lana finishes, her face shadowed with the memory. “And afterward, I thought about writing or calling you a hundred times, but there was always something else to claim my attention, and…well, I never knew quite what to say." 

"Same here,” Tig says ruefully, thinking back on the months between Ziost and the expedition into Wild Space, all the time she’d spent thinking and wondering while her crew tried with varying degrees of tact to ignore the Hero of Tython pining for the Minister of Sith Intelligence, the half-excited, half-nervous thrill of _maybe she’ll be on the flagship with Marr_ , the disappointment at her absence turned desperate relief and hope that wherever Lana was, she was safe. 

“So I’ve spent the last five years hoping that conversation on Ziost wouldn’t turn out to be the last time we spoke,” Lana tells her, and her voice breaks just a little, just at the end. 

“Lana–” Tiganus takes another step forward, closing the distance between them, and raises a hand to cup Lana’s cheek. Their eyes meet and the old electricity is still there, that spark that always makes Tig want to do something crazy, like–well, like kissing a Sith. 

She starts to lean in, Lana’s skin warm under her hand, and then something clatters behind them and they’re both instantly back on high alert.


	7. Drunken Rishi Makeouts (Kenna/Theron)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So while my first Smuggler, Jass, is happily monogamous with Corso, my second Smuggler, Kenna, stayed single so she could indulge in hookups throughout her class story and eventually romance the heck out of Theron Shan.
> 
> Aaaaand this chapter is exactly what it says on the tin.

Kenna’s heading to check out Torch’s island in the morning, which gives her nothing to do the rest of tonight except not get so drunk she can’t handle dealing with reclusive, possibly unfriendly Mandalorians tomorrow.

She checks in with the crew, who’ve already been told they’re welcome to spend their downtime on Rishi however they want as long as they at least _try_ not to get into any trouble they can’t get themselves out of.

“Hey, Akaavi, got any advice for a Mandalorian meet-and-greet?” Kenna asks, to which Akaavi replies with a moment of solemn consideration and “Don’t die.”

Back at the hideout, Bowdaar and Jakarro are having some kind of Wookiee bonding conversation that seems potentially dangerous to be in arm’s reach of, and Theron is still over at his computer console, brow furrowed. His expression lifts somewhat when Kenna walks over to him with a fresh drink, although he still doesn’t look exactly relaxed. She figures relaxed Theron is going to be more than a one-drink undertaking.

“Hey,” Kenna says. “You miss the memo about this being a chance for us to celebrate and unwind a little?”

“I appreciate it, but these Nova Blade files aren’t gonna decrypt themselves,” Theron replies.

Kenna glances at the console readout. “You’re running a decryption program on them, right? So is there anything you can really do until it finishes, besides stand here being all broody handsome superspy?” Theron’s eyebrows go up a little at ‘broody handsome superspy’, and Kenna holds the drink out to him. “Come on, we got fancy little umbrellas and everything.”

He takes the cup from her with a smirk. “Well, if there are fancy little umbrellas involved…”

Moving away from the console, Kenna boosts herself up onto one the the plasteel crates stacked in a corner. Theron follows, leaning his hip against the crate’s side.

“It has been a while since we had time to talk,” he says, and plucks at the sleeve of her jacket. “I’ve been meaning to ask where you picked this up, for example.”

Kenna holds her arms out and looks down at herself with a grin. “There’s a shop on the boardwalk selling whole getups like this. I got a hat, too. Figure if I’m supposed to be a fearsome pirate captain, it can’t hurt to look the part.”

He chuckles. “You’ve really been getting a kick out of that cover story, haven’t you? I’m glad. I was worried we might have been overdoing it a bit with the whole Red Hulls thing, but Lana kept saying there was no point doing it if we didn’t commit.”

“Does that mean I can blame her for some of the more gruesome stories about all the cannibalism I’ve apparently engaged in?” Kenna asks.

“Oh, definitely,” Theron says at once. “Anything you’re not happy about, it was Lana’s idea.”

Kenna shakes her head sadly. “It’s always the quiet ones.”

Theron gives her a contemplative look. “We figured you could handle it. This isn’t exactly your first brush with piracy, after all.”

“Oh, you mean my stint commanding the biggest single pirate fleet in the known galaxy?” She lets out a nostalgic sigh. “Good times.”

“I’ve always wondered, why’d you disperse that fleet so soon?” Theron asks. “Seems like it could have been a pretty sweet deal for you to keep it going.”

Kenna shrugs. “Eh, I can get a kick out of playing pirate captain now and then, but as a long-term arrangement, it’s not really for me.” She lifts her hands, gesturing while she talks. “See, my whole thing is I don’t want anyone to be my boss, but I’m not exactly on fire to be anyone else’s boss, either. My whole career is basically an ever-evolving quest for the sweet spot between those two.”

“What about your crew?” Theron asks.

Kenna waves a hand. “I tend to think of them less as 'employees I’ve hired’ and more 'family I adopted at some point without really meaning to’. Plus I need at least _some_ people to keep a good operation going–my ship may be on the small end as freighters go, but it’s still a pain to try and crew all by myself.”

Theron nods, taking a sip of his drink. “Guess we’re not too different in that regard. I’ve always preferred solo ops, and the higher-ups at the SIS used to give me pretty free rein. Which was great for me, until I got my job there trashed by really well-entrenched and vindictive cultists.”

“Ah, the old 'I was doing fine until my career got trashed by cultists’,” Kenna says sympathetically, holding up her drink, and he smirks and knocks the rim of his cup against hers.

“I know, right? Tale as old as time.”

“Well, if you ever want to give up espionage for smuggling, let me know. I think I could make room for you on the freighter.”

Given that she’s just told him her crew is like family, that’s _maybe_ not the most casual flirt she could have gone with. Theron doesn’t call her on it, just looks at her with his crooked smile and his tawny eyes softening a bit around the edges.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” he says.

***

A few drinks later, Kenna maybe hasn’t succeeded in her objective of avoiding a hangover tomorrow, and has been prevailed on to stay the night at the safe house rather than head back to the ship.

“See me before you leave for the island tomorrow, Captain,” Lana tells her before turning in. “I should be able to help if you’re feeling poorly.”

“You can cure hangovers with the Force?” Kenna asks. “Now, see, if someone had told me that years ago I would have gotten _much_ chummier with the Jedi.”

“Come on, there’s a room down this way you can take,” Theron tells her. Kenna weaves a little as she gets to her feet, and her takes her arm, guiding her.

“How come you’re not as drunk as I am?” she asks, peering at him suspiciously. “You’ve got some sort of implants that keep you from getting drunk at the same rate as a normal human, don’t you?” He doesn’t say anything, but looks sheepish. “Aww, hell, you do.”

“It’s useful for a spy!” he protests, putting a hand on her waist as she stumbles. “You can sit in a cantina for hours looking like a normal patron instead of, y'know, a spy, you can go drink for drink with a contact and stay clearheaded–”

“Excellent points, but you could also _warn_ a girl.”

“Sorry,” he says. “For the record, I just didn’t think to mention it, I wasn’t _trying_ to let you get twice as drunk as me.”

“Well, that’s good.” They stop outside what Kenna assumes is her room, and she leans against the wall by the door. “I’d hate to have to sic Corso on you for ungentlemanly behavior.”

Theron arches a brow. “Is that…something I should be concerned about? I didn’t think you two were…”

“We’re not,” Kenna tells him. “Doesn’t stop him from getting protective sometimes. And he had a crush on me when we met, I guess, but it never went anywhere.” She shrugs. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the kid, but. He’s not exactly what I’m looking for.”

Theron takes a step closer, bracing one hand against the wall by Kenna’s head and looking down at her (kriff, he’s so _tall_ ). “Is this where I ask what you are looking for?”

She looks up at him, biting her lower lip before she answers. “Don’t always know, but I can usually tell it when I see it.”

Theron takes his time bending toward her, brushing his lips against hers lightly and teasing her mouth open before kissing her in earnest. Kenna closes her eyes, one hand running up over his chest and collarbone to rest on the side of his neck, inside the collar of his jacket.

It’s a kiss that’s been building since they sat in the Republic fleet cantina talking in what-ifs, and Kenna’s not usually a drawn-out-anticipation kind of girl, but in this case? _So_ worth it. Theron pulls back just a little, changing the angle before kissing her again, hard. At the same time, he moves in closer, pinning her between him and the wall. Kenna stretches up against him, putting both hands on his shoulders and bracing a foot on the wall behind her for purchase. Theron takes the hint, grasping her waist and hitching her up further, one knee sliding between her legs.

Kenna’s not sure how much time passes before she tips her head down and pushes her face into the curve of his neck, but she’s flushed and her head is spinning, not just from the alcohol. Theron turns his face against her hair, nuzzling gently, and she kisses the side of his neck, which gets her a delightful shiver.

“We should probably call it a night,” he says with some reluctance, not stepping back or taking his hands off her yet. “Big day dealing with Mandalorians and cultists tomorrow.”

Kenna tilts her head back up, skimming her mouth along the edge of his jaw. “You could step inside, y'know. Trust me, I’m still about two drinks away from Bad Decision Drunk.”

Theron lifts a hand, brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I trust you. But let’s maybe put a pin in this until you’re Good Decision Sober.”

He eases away, and Kenna looks up at him with a smile. “Ah, so you’re a gentleman after all.”

“I have my moments.” Theron smoothes a hand over her hair, leans in to kiss the top of her head, and then steps back. “See you tomorrow, Captain."


	8. Interlude (Kenna/Theron)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little something describing Kenna and Theron's relationship that currently doesn't fit into anything else, set between the events of Yavin 4 and Ziost.

When she thinks about Theron, it doesn't tend to involve words like _relationship_ or _boyfriend_. It's not going on dates or meeting parents, talking about the future or even, usually, talking all that much about the present.

What it is is that first kiss when they see each other after months apart, Theron's arm going around her waist and pulling her against him while she stretches up on her toes and runs her fingers through his stupid hair. It's whole days spent in bed, sex and afterglow and talking and napping all starting to blur together as Theron's apartment becomes a little haven away from all the trouble they can't seem to stop getting into. Theron with heat in his eyes and a jagged-edged grin, pushing her thighs apart and sliding down to settle between them. Kenna leaning over him while he lies on his stomach, mapping the ridges and dips of his spine with kisses. Fingers gently pressing against old scars and healing bruises while they murmur _tell me about this one_. It's being somewhere on the Outer Rim, no clue what part of the galaxy he's in, and having her datapad beep with an incoming message that says _Thought about you today. Hope things are good and you're not getting into too much trouble, or that if you are you're gonna tell me all about it._

It's...Theron. Never not being who he is, never asking Kenna to be anyone but who she is, and how well they fit together, which Kenna maybe shouldn't be so surprised by after how long they've been doing this.

She's never seen herself as the long-term relationship type, but she figures she could keep doing this for the foreseeable future, easy.


	9. Letters (Kenna/Theron)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Theron gets some news, and starts a letter. Set during the five-year gap.

Theron hasn't been sleeping well lately, but he's used to it by now--he hasn't really slept well in years. Waiting for a pot of caf to finish brewing, rubbing a hand over his face and thinking idly that he should probably shave, he checks the messages on his datapad. There's a lot of them; contacts he hasn't lost touch with checking in, reports on the state of things in the Republic and Empire, almost assuredly none of it good news. Nothing about Satele, who's gone off the grid and left the Jedi Order in a shambles, or--

He sits upright, tiredness forgotten, as one message jumps out at him. The sender is listed as simply "L", the subject line five words: _I know where K is._

Theron drops the datapad and scrambles for a holocom. He has no idea where Lana is or what time it is there. He doesn't even know if the old frequency he has for her is still any good, but that doesn't stop him from punching it in.

The holo beeps for a maddeningly long time before Lana flickers into view. She looks different than he remembers, older in more than just the years that have passed, and she peers at him in concern.

"Theron? Pardon my saying so, but you look awful."

He knows he looks awful. He didn't call her to hear about how awful he looks. "She's alive?"

"If my sources are reliable--and I believe they are--then yes," Lana tells him.

Theron slumps back in his chair, closing his eyes as years of tension unknot in his shoulders and neck. The relief is so sudden and intense he misses what Lana says next. "Sorry, what was that?"

"She's frozen in carbonite," Lana repeats. "Imprisoned on Zakuul. Right in the Spire itself, it seems."

"Shit," Theron says. "They're...probably not just going to let her go if we ask nicely, huh."

"Oh, I don't know," Lana says, with a distinctively Lana smile that Theron only realizes in that moment how much he's missed. "You could always give it a try and see what happens."

"Cute. So, I assume you're working on a plan?" 

She nods. "It's very early stages, but yes. I need to find out for sure where she's being kept, and see what I can learn about the facility. And I need to solidify my alliances on Zakuul; I've met some good people here, but we're not exactly at a 'high-risk jailbreak' level of trust yet."

"What can I do?" Theron asks. 

"If we succeed, she'll be waking up to a galaxy very different than the one she remembers," Lana points out. "It would be nice if we could have something familiar waiting for her. When was the last time you spoke to any of her people?"

Theron sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Almost a year ago. Corso and Bowdaar were planning to take the freighter back out to wild space to keep looking for her. I dropped a line a few months ago and never heard back from either of them." They weren't his to keep track of, he tells himself again, like that's really going to help with the guilt.

"Well, see if you can turn anything up," Lana says. "And I promise I'll let you know when we get closer to actually getting her out of there."

"You do that," he says, and then, slowly, "It's...good talking to you again, Lana. Feels like old times."

"It does, doesn't it?" she says with another little smile. "I'm looking forward to working together again, Theron."

She ends the call, and Theron picks up his datapad again. He has work to do, but first he opens up the folder where all his correspondence with Kenna is saved. He taps her last message, which he's already reread so many times that if it were an old-fashioned letter on flimsiplast it would be worn through.

_How come I'm the only one standing around on an Imperial flagship making awkward small talk with Darth Marr?? Seems like you or Satele or at least Lana could be here. You owe me dinner when I'm back in Republic space._

Theron lets his finger hover over the datapad's surface for a second, then taps "Reply". It's going to take some time to sort out exactly what he wants to say to her, but he can at least make a start.

_For when you wake up,_ he types in the subject line.


	10. Reunion (Seme/Aric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Straight-up KOTFE reunion smut for my Trooper Seme and her cat husband.

There is absolutely no reason to be feeling nervous right now, Seme tells herself. This is Aric. This is her _husband_. She knows every inch of his body and he knows every inch of hers, she's shared more with him than she has with anyone, and their conversation and kiss earlier certainly made it seem like his feelings haven't changed. But it's been five years for him, longer than the time they were married before Zakuul. Shorter for her, much shorter, but she woke up to a world where everything she knew and loved was gone and now he's here and she wants them back together, wants _him_ , so bad it aches.

Which may explain why when they step into his tent and he pulls the flaps shut, Seme's heart is pounding every bit as hard as the first time they were together.

"You hungry?" Aric asks, and she shakes her head. They're standing close to each other, but not touching, and Seme wonders if he's nervous, too, not that he'd admit it.

"Not a bad setup," she says, glancing around the inside of the tent--neatly made cot, desk with a portable holoterminal and a datapad resting on it, all personal effects neatly stowed. "As far as a camp in a ruin in a swamp goes, anyway."

"We've bunked in worse places," Aric says. He steps closer, taking hold of her waist, and smiles crookedly. "At least this swamp isn't toxic. Remember Quesh?"

Seme makes a disgusted noise, even as her hands settle on his upper arms. "Never remind me of Quesh again. That's an order."

"Thought you weren't my CO anymore," he says as he leans in to kiss her.

Seme moves her hands over his arms and up to his shoulders, moving in closer as the kiss deepens. Aric slides a hand around to the small of her back, pressing her to him. Seme can feel him hardening against her thigh, and she breaks the kiss to catch her breath, tipping her forehead against his.

"This is crazy," she says softly.

"Which part?" Aric murmurs, planting a kiss to the top of her head.

Seme smoothes her hands down over his chest, one palm coming to rest over his heart. "The part where it's been a few months from my point of view and five years for you. I've spent every day since I woke up missing you, I can't imagine what it's been like for--"

Before she can finish that thought, Aric tips her chin up and kisses her hard enough to bend her back a little.

"No offense, but I don't really want to talk about what it's been like to not have you," he says when the kiss breaks.

Seme grins, hands trailing down to curl around his hips. "Well, you've got me now, soldier. What are you gonna do about it?"

In response, he grips her firmly around the waist and hoists her off her feet, setting her down on the edge of the desk. Seme hooks her legs around his hips and pulls him in close, twining her arms around his neck and kissing him fiercely.

Aric's hands are all over her, restless, frantic; roaming across her back, skimming over her thighs where they're wrapped around him, sliding up to cup her breasts. Seme takes a moment to be glad she forewent heavy armor for her return to Zakuul's swamps, her light-but-durable shirt and vest offering much less resistance (and yet, still being much more clothing than she'd like to be wearing at the moment). She wrestles with his own armor, letting each piece fall carelessly after she unclasps it.

Aric drops his head to nuzzle at the curve of her neck, and it's so familiar and so _good_ that Seme almost cries, until sharp teeth scrape across her skin and she moans instead. 

" _Seme_." It's a growl, low and full of need. He nips at the underside of her jaw, then just pushes his face against her neck and inhales deeply. "I'd almost forgotten the way you smell, the way you _taste_ \--"

Seme brings a hand up to cup the back of his head, holding him against her. "Am I the same as you remember?"

"Just about," Aric says, and inhales again. "There's something new there. Trees and water. Not the swamp."

"Odessen," she confirms, trailing her fingertips through the fur at the back of his neck. "It's a nice world. You should come see it when we're done with the mission."

"As long as you're there and the blasted Skytroopers aren't, I'll love it," he purrs in her ear, then bites her neck, just short of hard enough to break skin. She lets out a sharp moan, hand tightening on the scruff of his neck.

"Okay, I'm gonna need you to fuck me right now," Seme says breathlessly, grabbing at his collar to pull his shirt over his head. 

Aric ducks out of the shirt, pushes her vest off her shoulders. "Working on it."

He slides his hands under her shirt and up, and Seme lifts her arms to let him take it off and then twines them around his neck, the feel of his fur on her skin deliciously familiar. Aric wraps his arms around her and lifts her off the desk, hands sliding down to grip the backs of her thighs. He tilts his face up to hers and she kisses him fiercely, holding on as he carries her the short distance across the tent.

They fall onto the cot together, limbs tangling and hands tugging impatiently at the clothing left between them. Seme kicks her boots off with enough force to send one of them flying across the tent to thud against the canvas wall, shoves her pants down her hips and wriggles out of them, swearing when the tight fabric clings to her calves. Aric strips with the same uncoordinated haste, and when he puts his hand on her back and says "Come _here_ ," there's raw desperation in his voice.

Seme pushes him onto his back and straddles his legs, reaching between their bodies to give him a few firm strokes.

"You ready?" he asks, voice and hands shaking as he grips her around the waist.

"Been ready since we kissed outside," she replies, and sinks down onto his cock.

Aric's hips arch off the cot and he makes a noise that's nothing more than a sharp hiss of air between his teeth, his hands tightening on her, claws digging in hard enough to break skin. 

Seme bites her lip and holds her breath in reaction to both the sharp pinpoints of pain at her waist and the sensation of him filling her. As intense as this is for her, she reminds herself, it's got to be more so for him. She doesn't need to ask if he's been with anyone else in the past five years; he's Cathar, and more importantly he's Aric. If he'd moved on from her, found someone else, it wouldn't have been a casual thing, and he would have told her.

"You okay?" she asks after a moment when he doesn't move or speak.

"Yeah," he says harshly. "Just--shit, sorry." He seems to just realize then that he's digging his claws into her, pulling his hands back to fist in the blanket instead.

"It's okay," Seme says, smoothing her hands over the tense, corded muscles in his shoulders and arms. "Need a second?"

He nods, and she folds herself down so she can kiss him, his fur tickling her skin as her breasts press against his chest. Aric cups her face between his palms, fingers carefully splayed so he won't claw her again, and they kiss for a long moment before Seme rolls her hips experimentally.

Aric tips his head back with a groan, hips bucking automatically. She sits up, bracing her hands on his shoulders, and keeps moving, setting a steady pace.

"You good?" she asks him, her breath coming fast and shallow.

"You--ahhh, _fuck_ \--you could say that," he gasps in reply, bringing his arms around her waist as he thrusts up into her.

They're both way too keyed-up for it to last long. Aric lets out a sharp, growling cry and Seme feels him come inside her. Still riding him, she reaches down and finds her clit, a few fast strokes bringing her to a shuddering climax.

She collapses on top of him, and he wraps her tightly in his arms and nuzzles her neck again.

"Part of me still can't believe you're actually here," he murmurs against her skin. "The other part of me can't believe I made it through five years without you."

Seme lifts her head to kiss him. "I'm here." She shifts off of him and settles beside him on the tiny cot, throwing one leg over his. "And I'm not gonna let anything split us up again."

Aric keeps one arm tucked securely around her, his other hand tracing up and down her arm. "Gonna hold you to that," he tells her in a low voice. "I'm not sure I could survive losing you again."

Anger bubbles up inside her, at Arcann, at Zakuul, at the whole damn galaxy. Seme's trying to do this--this whole Alliance thing--for the right reasons, because Arcann needs to be stopped and not just for her own revenge, but it's hard to keep sight of that sometimes with this black, bitter anger seething inside her.

Five years. Five _years_. They could have bought their own place by now, made it into a home. They could have celebrated five more anniversaries together, five more Life Days. They could have had children. 

Arcann took that all away from them so easily, without a second thought, and Seme's going to defeat him because it's the right thing to do for the galaxy, but she's going to put a blaster bolt through his head for herself and Aric.

She doesn't say any of that to Aric as they lie on his cot together, but she whispers "I love you so much," while pressing tiny, fierce kisses all over his face, and the rest is kind of implied.


	11. Missteps (Seme/Aric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for chapter 13 of KOTFE. Seme sent Kaliyo to infiltrate the bunker and told Aric not to go in after her, because I'm a glutton for pain (...except it all works out okay because I'm not a glutton for THAT much pain).

Seme's on the verge of snapping _don't tell me how to treat my husband, Shan_ , but she reins herself in. Theron's right--Aric disobeyed a direct order, and if she's going to function effectively as Alliance Commander, she can't just ignore that. She folds her arms and levels her gaze at him as the others withdraw.

"You got anything to say for yourself, Major?"

"Havoc Squad Doesn't make excuses. I take full responsibility for my actions." He meets her eyes, proud and stubborn and so obviously still hurting from the loss of their-- _his_ \--people, and Seme looks down and shakes her head.

"We're all trying our best, here. Mistakes are inevitable. Just...don't let it happen again."

"I won't have people thinking you're soft on me because of our relationship," Aric says. "I'm placing myself on maintenance detail whenever we're not on patrol."

Seme gives a derisive snort. "I'll be as soft on you as I want, and if anyone has a problem with that they're welcome to take it up with me. But if you insist, Major."

"I do," he says firmly. "Thank you, Commander."

Seme nods. "We done with the official stuff now? Because I'd kind of like to hug my husband."

He steps forward even before she's finished speaking, pulling her into a tight embrace. She wraps her arms around him as he buries his face in her shoulder and takes a deep breath.

"I'm so sorry," Seme tells him, looking over his shoulder at the line of coffins.

" _I'm_ sorry," he says, lifting his head. "I should have waited."

"I should have been there," she counters. "Look, being part of this Alliance...it's not like anything we've done before. There's gonna be some missteps, but you and I need to have each other's backs. More than anyone else, I need you with me. Speaking of which--" she pulls back a little and punches him in the arm. "I was afraid you were dead, don't _ever_ do that to me again."

Aric makes an incredulous noise. "You're gonna tell _me_ not to do that to _you_?" He takes her face in his hands and leans his forehead against hers, voice a low growl. "Do you have _any_ idea how it felt to have Theron tell me you'd gone AWOL? I can't lose you like that, Seme, not _again_." 

"I know." She reaches up to curl her hands around his wrists, closing her eyes. "I'd say we should just never let each other out of our sights again, but--"

"--but that's no way to fight a war. I know," he finishes with a sigh, then tilts his head up to kiss her forehead. "I'm just glad you came back safe."

"Same here." She slides her arms around him again and hugs him tight for a moment, then turns back toward the coffin, keeping one arm around his waist as he wraps his around her shoulders. "So, walk me through the damage. Who'd we lose?"


	12. Home (Ruqi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt "home planet". Some backstory/character study for my Sith Warrior Ruqi, who is a largely-but-not-entirely-LS Sith Pureblood.

Ruqi is not born on Korriban, but the day she sets foot on those red sands is the day she comes home.

The Empire retakes the planet years before she is born, begins building the new Sith Academy there, and throughout her childhood it's a constant presence, a whisper, a promise: soon, we will return home.

Too young to understand, she questions. "You said the ancient Sith lost Korriban long ago."

"They did," her mother replies, running a brush through her daughter's hair and sweeping it up, away from her face. "Long before you, or your father and I, or our parents were ever born."

"Then how can it be home?" Ruqi asks, making a face at both the tug as her mother's brush hits a tangle and at her mother's words not making sense.

"We are Sith. Korriban is our homeworld. Now that the Empire has retaken it, our family must claim our rightful place there."

"Claim it from who?" Ruqi asks. "Will someone try to stop us? Will you and Father have to fight them?" 

Her mother smiles wryly as she wraps a tie around Ruqi's hair to hold it in place. "There is always someone, somewhere, who will try to stop you. There are many who wish to return to Korriban now, of pure blood and otherwise, and positions at the Academy or working among the tombs will be coveted. Your father and I will do what we must to secure places there, though it will not be the sort of fight you're imagining."

By the time Ruqi is a teenager, her parents' ambition and hard work has paid off. Her father, a respected historian, leads one of the many excavations in the Valley of the Dark Lords, while her mother gives basic combat instruction to young acolytes in the Academy. Ruqi's place in the Academy when she comes of age is all but guaranteed, though her parents always make it clear to her that once she becomes an acolyte, she must succeed or fail on her own.

She learns her most important lessons from the two of them, long before Tremel or Baras or any others who would call themselves her masters. It's her mother who teaches her how to fight, how to temper rage with cunning and find glory in battling a worthy foe. It's her father, however, who teaches her that vengeance and bloodshed is not the only way.

"There are many Sith who lack honor and think all mercy is weakness, and I would not have you be among them," he tells her. "There is no glory in striking down the defenseless, or in wanton cruelty to those who serve you. To save your fury for worthy targets, to repay loyal service with protection from harm, and to behave with honor even when those around you do not--this is the way of true strength."

On the other side of the room, Ruqi's mother smirks without looking up from the book she's reading.

"Your mother thinks I'm a foolish idealist," her father says, looking over at his wife fondly.

"No, I _know_ you're a foolish idealist," her mother says, rising and walking over to them. "But that's part of why I fell in love with you." She bends down to kiss her husband, then puts a hand on Ruqi's head, stroking her long black hair. "Let your father fill your head with thoughts of honor and mercy. But remember that not everyone shares his view of things, and you must be able to hold your own against them when the time comes."

Ruqi nods, looking up at her mother with bright eyes and eagerly imagining the day she stands on Korriban's sands as a warrior. "I will."


	13. Wrong (Aviza)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm playing the Agent class story for the first time right now, and getting into Chapter 2, and WHAT. WHAT IS THIS. IT'S SO MESSED UP but hey, at least Vector is there to be a sweetheart. So here's a little tag for the "keyword: onomatophobia" scene, with my Chiss agent Aviza.

When she steps out of Ardun Kothe's office, her skin crawling and a pleasantly neutral expression plastered on her face, Vector is playing dejarik with the droid. At the sight of her, he makes his excuses, gives a slight, formal bow, and comes over to her, seeming faintly concerned.

"You were in the office for quite some time," he says, dark eyes sweeping over her face. "We were beginning to worry something was wrong."

Aviza opens her mouth to tell him that everything's wrong, that they need to get out of here and contact Keeper and that he needs to be ready to take her down if she turns on him.

What she says instead is, "Kothe had a lot of questions about my reasons for defecting. That's all."

It's the most surreal and horrifying thing she's ever experienced in a life full of dark and dangerous things. The words are right there, on the tip of her tongue, but they come out warped, transformed, and when she tries to yell, to grab his arm, do _anything_ to let him know what's happening, all she does is smile pleasantly up at him.

"That is good." Vector cocks his head to the side as he studies her, brow still furrowed slightly. Aviza wonders if his Killik senses could tell him something's off even with her own ability to do so shut down. Please, _please_ let him sense it. "We assumed you would have called us if there were any problems."

"Everything is fine, Vector," she hears herself tell him in a perfect simulacrum of her own voice.

He nods, not seeming quite satisfied, but not pressing the issue. "We have been getting to know the others," he says, glancing over his shoulder at the little group of SIS agents. The one they call Chance lifts a hand to wave, and Vector returns the gesture with a tiny smile on his face before turning back to Aviza. "But if we have our next mission, perhaps we should be on our way?"

 _When I find a way out of this, I'm going to kill Kothe in the most painful way I can imagine_ , she thinks, and says, "Yes. Let's get back to the ship, Vector."


	14. Solace (Aviza/Vector)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Chapter 2 in the Agent class story--after successfully reprogramming herself, Aviza comes clean to her crew.

As soon as Aviza gets off the call with Keeper, she calls the crew together, not wanting to delay her already-overdue explanation any longer. She doesn't even bother to think whether or not this is information she should trust them all with. She's been denied the choice to tell anyone about what's been happening to her for too long; now that she can talk about it, she's damned well going to.

"I _knew_ something was off about you lately," Kaliyo says when she tells them. "Can't say I ever would have guessed 'SIS using Imperial brainwashing', though."

"I don't blame you," Aviza replies. "I'd find it hard to imagine if I hadn't just lived through it."

"Fascinating," Lokin says, looking at her with interest. "You reprogrammed your own mind? I've never heard of anyone doing such a thing. At least, not successfully."

"I had help," Aviza tells him. "Well. Sort of. It's complicated." She left Watcher X's role out of her story, still not sure how to explain that part. "Perhaps I'll tell you the whole story once I've had more time to come to terms with it. For now, I just want you all to know that if I've seemed strange lately, or said or done anything to hurt you, this is why. And I'm sorry for it."

"Sir--" Ensign Temple leans forward, elbows braced on her knees. "I have to ask, does all this have anything to do with my reassignment?"

Aviza looks away for a moment, her jaw tightening. "Yes. Hunter wanted wanted to be sure you couldn't threaten the operation. I had to convince him not to order me to kill you." Looking back at Raina, she adds, "That doesn't mean I'm not glad to have you on my team."

Raina nods. "And I'm still glad to be here, sir. Thank you for telling me the truth."

Vector, who's been sitting quietly this whole time, his eyes fixed on her, speaks up. "Is this why you let Chance die on Taris?"

Aviza sucks in a sharp breath at the memory: Vector standing guard by the door, too far away to hear what she and Chance were saying, but clearly able to see Aviza not lifting a hand to help him. Chance, who she _liked_ , who she would have gone to help of her own free will, but he'd used her command word, and now he was trying to use it again, and something cruel and unforgiving had stretched and showed its claws inside her as she locked eyes with him and said, softly, pleasantly, _You can't say it, can you?_

"Yes," she says. "I'm sorry, Vector, I know you liked him. He used the command word on me and I just--I couldn't forgive him for it."

Vector makes a small, dismissive gesture, as if his feelings on the matter are of little concern. "We did like him, and we are sorry he died. But we are also sorry he did that to you."

"So what now?" Kaliyo asks. "We just go back to work for the people who brainwashed you in the first place?"

"For the time being, yes," Aviza says. "There are questions I still want answered, and I'm not ready to give up on serving the Empire just yet." Looking around them all, she adds, "And we have an edge now--to the best of my knowledge, no one else in Intelligence knows I've broken the conditioning. I suggest we keep it that way."

After she dismisses them, Vector lingers in the conference room. "Agent, do you have a moment?"

"For you, Vector? Always," Aviza replies with a smile. He moves closer to her, his own expression solemn.

"We wanted to tell you how sorry we are," he tells her. "We could tell something was wrong, even before the time the plague-sleep took you." He looks down, shaking his head. "We could see the changes in your aura, hear discordant notes in your song. We thought it was something you did not wish to tell us, that by not asking about it we were doing what was best."

Aviza reaches for his hand. "Vector...as strange as it may seem, that _was_ what was best." He looks up, not understanding, and she goes on. "The conditioning kept me from telling anyone. I tried, more than once, but the words always came out...different." She closes her eyes against the memory, shaking her head. "It was awful. Believe me, I'm thankful you didn't ask."

"Then so are we." He lifts her hand to his chest, cradling it in both of his. "We are still sorry we could not help you."

"But you did." Aviza steps closer, head tilted up to meet his eyes. "The happiest I've been these last few months has been with you. Our conversations outside of our missions, helping with your work on the Killik alliance--that's a part of my life that Kothe and the others never touched, and I'm so grateful for it. You've been my greatest solace, Vector."

At that, he smiles at her. "That means a great deal to us. We've been distracted lately, but we are always willing to help you however we can. We want you to know that." 

Looking at her intently, he raises a hand to her face, his fingers gentle as they brush her cheek, trace the edge of her jaw, take hold of her chin.

"Your aura is clearer now," he tells her. "'Peaceful' is not the right word--it thrums with energy--but the disturbance is gone. You are in harmony with yourself once more."

"Then it seems like as good a time as any for me to do this," she says, and stretches up toward him, bracing her hand against his chest. The kiss is more an experiment than anything else, a brief, gentle brush of her lips against his. Aviza steps back to look at him, and he seems mildly surprised, but also pleased.

"We were wondering if you were going to do that, or if we should," he said, and ducks his head with a self-deprecating smile. "We are...out of practice when it comes to this sort of thing."

She almost says _that makes two of us_ , but that's not exactly true anymore, not after Hoth. Still, Saganu was the first man she's kissed for non-mission-related reasons in longer than she cares to admit.

"I suppose I'll just have to help you get back into practice, then," she says, and she's about to kiss him again when there's a discreet throat-clearing from the doorway. Vector half-turns, and Aviza cranes her neck to look past his shoulder to see Temple standing there, eyes lowered. 

"I didn't mean to interrupt, sir, but when you have a moment…"

"Of course, Ensign," Aviza says, and looks back at Vector with a wry smile. "Can we continue this later?"

He brushes his fingers against her cheek once more before stepping away. "We'll look forward to it."


	15. Nightmare (Kenna/Theron)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenna and Theron post-Chapter 9 of KOTFE. I never headcanoned Kenna as particularly claustrophobic before she became an Outlander-sicle, but she sure as hell is now. Theron is still getting used to the whole "supportive fulltime partner and not just a friend with benefits" thing, but he's not doing too badly at it.

The nightmares she has about being back in carbonite are always worse than the actual experience was.

In reality, the freezing was the worst part. Dazed from...whatever had just happened with Valkorion, honestly sort of glad there was a guard holding her by each arm so she didn't have to keep herself upright, she'd barely realized what was going on until they placed her in the freezing chamber. Then there'd been a sharp spike of panic, a desperate _no no no no NO_ ringing through her mind as she tried to move, to speak, to do _anything_ , but her body wouldn't obey her. The scream was still trapped in her throat when the machinery hissed to life and everything went cold and dark.

Everything after that...well, it hadn't been _fun_ , exactly, wandering around a weird, floaty dream world with only a dead-not-dead-seriously-what's-this-guy's- _deal_ megalomaniac for company, subjected to visions of her loved ones dying an occasional sharp stabs of pain to remind her that the carbonite was slowly poisoning her. Definitely not fun. But she'd been able to move and talk, even if it was just a dream.

In her nightmares, there's nothing but the carbonite. She's always perfectly alert and aware, but in stasis, trapped in the dark with a scream she can't let out.

The first couple of times, she wakes up alone, in their little makeshift camp in the swamp or on the Gravestone, her heart pounding and her breath coming in shallow, panicky gasps. It always takes a little while to believe that she is awake, that this, not the carbonite, is what's real.

She doesn't say anything to her companions. Koth and Senya are people she's starting to like and trust (although they don't always make it easy), but they're not her friends, not really, not yet. Lana's been a good ally--scratch that, organizing and pulling off that jailbreak gets her officially upgraded to _great_ ally--but she's still not someone Kenna finds it easy to confide in or turn to for comfort. 

The first time she wakes up from a carbonite nightmare on Odessen is the first time it ever happens with someone else close by. She starts awake with the familiar panic flooding her, momentarily confused by the arm draped loosely around her waist and the solid warmth of another body at her back.

Theron stirs and lifts his head, muttering "You okay?" in a sleep-rough voice.

Kenna struggles to breath, unable to get enough air in her lungs to answer him.

The bed shifts as he pushes up on one elbow, putting his hand on her shoulder, voice concerned now. "Kenna?"

She rolls over and buries her face in his chest, throwing an arm around him. Still trying to calm herself down, she clings to him, trying to let his warmth and scent banish the memory of cold air and clinical smells.

Theron goes still for a moment, a noticeable awkwardness in the way he holds himself against her, and then his arms wrap around her, one hand coming up to cup the back of her head.

"Hey," he murmurs, stroking her hair. "Hey, you're okay. You're okay. I've got you."

Kenna takes a couple of deep, slow breaths, Theron's touch and the low rumble of his voice helping her shake off the nightmare faster than she usually can on her own. "I'm okay," she says, lifting her head. "Sorry about that."

Theron brushes some wayward strands of hair out of her face. "You wanna talk about it?"

Kenna shakes her head. "Just...tell me I'm not gonna end up spending another five years in carbonite. Whatever else happens, I'm not doing that again."

"Not on my watch," he says firmly. 

Kenna closes her eyes, leaning her head on his shoulder. "That was Arcann's idea of a good deal last time I ran into him, y'know. Stick me back in the freezer instead of just killing me."

Theron's hands tighten on her. "Arcann can go screw himself. We sprung you and we're keeping you." He kisses the top of her head, then mutters against her hair, "I'm not gonna be stupid enough to let you go again. Promise."

"Okay." Kenna relaxes her death grip on him a little, but doesn't move out of the circle of his arms. "Good."


	16. Engagement (Ruqi/Quinn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Engagement party smut with Quinn and Ruqi, because sometimes when your longer WIP for a pairing is being difficult to wrangle you just have to throw up your hands and post some smut that can stand on its own.

Quinn had expected that wedding the Emperor's Wrath would come with a certain necessary amount of pageantry and ceremony. He was not wrong. Ruqi's mother, who he's still fairly certain doesn't even like him, had begun planning an engagement party as soon as they'd shared the news with her, grudgingly allowing occasional input from her husband, Quinn's mother, and the engaged parties themselves.

The result is a spectacular affair with as many distinguished guests as can fit into the family's Kaas City apartment. And this, Quinn reminds himself, is the ruthlessly edited version of the guest list. There have been no shortage of Sith and Imperial higher-ups seeking to curry favor with Ruqi since word of her duel with Baras spread through the Empire. The former Wrath was, from what Quinn has heard, a notoriously mysterious and solitary fellow; the new Wrath is young, lovely, and surprisingly approachable, and while not particularly concerned with the trappings of society herself, she's happy for those she cares about to be lifted by the rising tide of her notoriety. 

Quinn, in a freshly pressed dressed uniform, is currently at the center of a knot of fellow officers--some above his rank, some much younger than him, and quite a few who are both--congratulating him on his good fortune and enquiring whether the Lord Wrath has expressed any desire to expand her crew. Across the room, Ruqi is thoroughly swamped with well-wishers and would-be hangers-on, holding her own with grace and fortitude and just the slightest hint of a murderous gleam in her eye.

She looks stunning, naturally. The simple lines of her dress seem more befitting a spinster aunt than a young bride--high collar, sleeves gathered at her wrists, ankle-length skirt. But the black fabric of the dress is sheer, her modesty preserved by the fact that the bodice and several panels on the skirt are covered in beading and crystals, gold and black and silver flashing in the light along with the gold that adorns her neck and ears. Her hair is held back from her face with jeweled pins but spills freely over her shoulders, and her lightsaber hangs at her side even now. She looks like a warrior queen.

She glances over and catches him staring, and makes some excuse to wend her way out from the crowd of admirers and toward him. Quinn does the same, resisting at least three attempts to draw him into conversation as he makes his way to her.

They meet in the middle of the room and she takes his hand and leans up to kiss his cheek. Not long ago, even that much affection in such a public setting would have had him flustered and concerned with impropriety. Even now, with so many eyes on them, he has to remind himself that they're engaged, that he could kiss her full on the mouth right now and no one could say a word about it. 

They're both being tugged in different directions already. Ruqi squeezes his hand and murmurs "Library. Five minutes," in his ear, then plasters a look of polite interest on her face and turns back to the crowd.

The library five minutes later is blessedly quiet and empty, possibly because Pierce is loitering outside the door looking unfriendly even for Pierce. Quinn sinks gratefully onto the sofa there and Ruqi joins him a moment later, throwing her legs across his lap.

"How much longer before we can kick them all out, do you think?"

Quinn takes her hand and raises it to his mouth, kissing each of her knuckles. "At least a few hours, I'm afraid. The Moffs haven't even started making toasts yet, and you know they're going to."

She groans and lets her head fall on his shoulder with a faint _whump_. "What if I just threaten to behead them? I'm the Wrath, I can do that."

He tucks a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "I believe that _may_ constitute an abuse of power, my lord."

They sit together a while longer, sharing gentle touches in a welcome oasis of calm. Quinn curls his hand around Ruqi's calf, exposed where her skirt is rucked up, and she lifts her head from his shoulder with a familiar light in her eyes.

"Take off your glove and give me your hand," she says, and Quinn obeys with a raised eyebrow.

Half of Kaas City, including both their families, just on the other side of the door and probably wondering where they've got to, and she takes his now-bare hand and places it back on her leg, then moves it up. Quinn doesn't breathe as she guides him under her dress, over her knee and up the length of her inner thigh, to where his fingers meet not a stitch of undergarments, just soft, hot flesh and dense, curling hair already damp to the touch.

" _Mielis_ ," he breathes, instantly wanting to crook his fingers up and into her. "We can't--not _now_ \--"

"Shh," she whispers, leaning in until they're almost kissing. "I know. Call it a preview. Something to get us both through the rest of the evening."

"I won't be able to stop thinking of this for a moment," he murmurs, unable to resist the urge to stroke his index finger across her slit just once.

She gasps and smiles, then closes her fingers around his wrist and tugs his hand back out from under her skirt. "I know."

***

Somehow, Quinn makes it through the rest of the party. The home stretch is a blur; at some point he's drinking outrageously expensive brandy with a lingering handful of military brass who wouldn't have given him the time of day a month ago, and then Ruqi's father is shaking his shoulder and telling him "You probably don't want to sleep in that chair all night, son,", the room finally empty of everyone but relatives and servants.

He says his goodnights and heads up the stairs, trying not to make any undue noise. Even with the guests gone and the rest of the crew back on the Fury, it's a rather full house. He and Ruqi have stayed here before and had the run of the place and its impressive master bedroom, but now her parents are there, with Ruqi and Quinn relegated to a slightly less opulent room across the hall, his mother one door down from them, and Ruqi's siblings ranged along the rest of the second floor.

Quinn slips into their room, reaching up to loosen his starched collar. Ruqi's seated at a vanity table, removing the pins from her hair and shaking it out, and when she catches sight of him over her shoulder she fixes him with a look like she's about to eat him alive.

"Get undressed and lie on your back," she tells him with no preamble, and he moves to obey at once.

As he finishes stripping and stretches out on the bed, she rises and comes toward him, barefoot with her hair unbound but still wearing her glittering dress.

"I was thinking of all the things I'd like to do with you," she says in a contemplative tone, "and it occurred to me that no matter what we do, we can't be as loud as we'd like, not with so many people just down the hall."

She sits on the edge of the bed, reaching out to stroke his hair back and comb her fingers through it. "And I started wondering just how still and quiet you could be if I asked you to. Could you keep still even while you were inside me? Keep from crying out when I made you come? Could you do that for me, _mielis_?"

Quinn's throat is suddenly dry, and he swallows and licks his lips before answering. "I would obey your commands to the best of my abilities, as ever."

She takes both his hands and stretches them above his head, then gathers her dress in her hands and moves to straddle his lap. One hand finds his cock and gives it a few experimental strokes; Quinn sucks in a breath, but doesn't move beyond a helpless twitch.

"Show me," she says, before lifting up on her knees and positioning herself over his cock.

She sinks down in one smooth movement, enveloping him, tight and hot and so, _so_ wet. It takes everything Quinn has not to thrust up into her, not to cry out her name. Somehow, he manages.

She starts moving, tiny rocking motions at first, then faster, until she's riding him hard. Quinn twists his fingers in the sheets above his head and tips his head back, using all his willpower to lie still beneath her while she takes her pleasure.

Ruqi is doing her best to be quiet as well, lips pressed tightly together, but here and there a moan slips out, soft, wanton little sounds that are driving what rational thought Quinn has left from his brain. She braces her hands on his chest and lifts up almost enough for his cock to slip out of her, then slams back down, and Quinn turns his head and bites down on his own bicep to keep from shouting. She does it again, and a ragged sound escapes him despite his best efforts.

He turns his head and pleads "I _can't_ \--", and that soft admission of defeat is all it takes for her to lift one hand from his chest and place it firmly over his mouth. Quinn gratefully buries his next helpless moan against her palm, forcing himself to keep his eyes open and on her.

She's spiraling toward her climax, movements becoming faster and jerkier. She rolls her hips against his one more time and throws her head back, biting her lower lip hard enough to draw blood as a muffled noise of pleasure and release escapes her. Her body clenches and shudders around him, and the sensation of that combined with the sounds she's making sends him over the edge, hips jerking uncontrollably as he pours himself into her.

She rides him through it, wringing every last aftershock and helpless spasm from him before she collapses against his chest, breathing hard and grinning in satisfaction.

"Dress," she says, and Quinn brings his arms down to undo the tiny buttons that start at the nape of her neck and run down her back. Ruqi sits up and pulls the dress over her head, tossing it aside carelessly, and then folds herself down against him again. His softening cock is still inside her, and she shows no inclination to change that as she braces her hands on either side of his head and leans in to kiss him.

"You did so well," she tells him softly, and as ever, her praise warms him, making the ache of strained muscles and the sting from where he bit his arm more than worth it. He slides his hands into her loose hair as they kiss, thick, soft strands wrapping around his fingers and falling about their faces.

"There are moments when I look at you and still find it hard to believe you're going to be my wife," he murmurs to her. "You could have anyone you wanted, and you chose me, even after what I did--"

Ruqi shushes him gently, lifting her head to study his face. "I did choose you, Malavai. And now all of the Empire knows it."

There are no words for the honor she's bestowed on him, so he just gathers her close and puts all his emotions into a deep, passionate kiss. When it breaks, she nestles against his chest, making herself comfortable on top of him. 

"Don't think we're done for the night," she mumbles sleepily. 

Quinn smiles and kisses the top of her head, wrapping his arms around her. "I wouldn't dream of it, _mielis_."


	17. Regroup (Tig/Lana)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tig/Lana for the prompt "The way you said 'I love you': Over a cup of tea".

Tig is fairly certain there was a point to this meeting back when they started it, but hell if she can remember what it was. At some point they got bogged down in details, going over and over the same ground until everyone's patience was worn thin, and then Koth took one of his cheap shots at Senya and Kaliyo said something that got under Jorgan's fur, and now Tig's just sitting here with her forehead resting against her steepled fingers, drawing on every ounce of her Jedi training to not strangle someone.

Theron's voice finally cuts through the bickering. "All right, clearly we're not getting anywhere tonight. Let's revisit this when we're all a little less likely to kill each other, hmm?"

The others don't need any further urging, and within a few minutes they've all disbanded except for Theron and Lana. The two of them exchange a few quiet words, and then Lana slips out of the room with a low "I'll be back in a moment."

Tig is still sitting at the conference table with her head in her hands; she pinches the bridge of her nose and then looks up at Theron. "I could be taking a nice, peaceful carbonite nap right now."

"And slowly dying of carbonite poisoning while Valkorion talks your ear off?" he reminds her.

"Still not entirely sure I wouldn't prefer that," she replies, and sits back in her chair. "Was there something else?"

"Isn't there always?" Theron asks, and then shakes his head. "But it can wait. You need a break as much as any of us."

“Quite right.” Lana comes back into the room carrying a mug of tea, which she sets on the table in front of Tig. “The galaxy’s not going to fall apart just because we take some time to regroup.”

“You sure about that?” Tig asks as she reaches for the mug. She blows on the steaming liquid for a few moments and then takes a sip.

It’s perfect–her favorite blend, sweet-but-not-too-sweet, even at just the right temperature so that it’s not too hot to drink, but she can feel the warmth spreading through her when she swallows. It’s the kind of cup of tea that makes you think that however tough the odds are, the galaxy’s worth fighting for so long as there are cups of tea this perfect in it.

Tig closes her eyes, letting out a sigh of contentment. “See, this is why I love you.”

Lana gives a soft chuckle and bends to kiss the top of Tig’s head, smoothing a hand over her hair. “I’d like to think I’ve given you more than one reason for that, but it’s nice to have my skills appreciated.”


	18. Always (Kenna/Theron)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenna's reaction to getting [Theron's post-Chapter-12 letter](http://imgur.com/m1neH82) in KOTFE. AKA "they are both so bad at this serious relationship business that they're kind of perfect for each other".

Kenna needs to find something to do besides pace around the war room waiting to hear from either Jorgan or Kaliyo, or she’s going to go even more stir-crazy than she already is and say something that’s both honest and really unhelpful, like _this is why I had my doubts about being commander of anything_ or _just so we’re all clear, I’m not taking the Eternal Throne when we beat Arcann no matter how many Force ghosts tell me I should_ or _Theron, would it bother you if I punched your mom the next time I see her?_

No one on base has anything for her to do at the moment, so she heads off to her quarters and grabs her datapad to see if any messages came in while she was off on her little trip through the woods.

There’s one unread message. From Theron.

_It took me a long time to hit send on this one, but I guess you already know I’m not great at this._

She’s back on her feet as soon as she finishes reading, heading back out to the war room. Most of the team has dispersed, but Theron’s still standing by the main holoterminal, arms folded, like he can will something into happening if he stays there long enough. He glances over his shoulder at her approach and starts to give some greeting, interrupted as Kenna walks up and wraps her arms around his waist from behind.

“Hey,” he says, tone slightly questioning even as he wraps his arms over hers, hands closing around her wrists.

“Just got your message,” Kenna says, muffled against his jacket as she presses her face into his shoulder.

“…Oh, yeah. That.” He sounds almost embarrassed, and knowing Theron, talking about this isn’t going to be any easier than writing about it was. Probably harder, in fact.

“Yeah. Sorry for pulling another disappearing act on you,” she tells him.

Theron turns, putting his arms around her shoulders and pressing her close. “Hey, I know it wasn’t exactly your idea. Wish knowing that made it easier to deal with, but.” He tilts his head down to lean his forehead against hers, closing his eyes, and says in a low voice, “I mean it, y'know. Always.”

Kenna closes her own eyes, bringing one hand up to cup the back of his head, hold him against her. If someone had told her, years ago, that flirting with a spy in a cantina would eventually lead to a conversation like this, she probably would have run in the other direction, and it would have been the biggest mistake of her life.

“That goes both ways,” she tells him just as softly. “Maybe we can’t avoid something like this happening again, but I’m always gonna do my best to come back to you.”

“I know,” he says, and pulls back to look at her with a faint smile. “And your best is…pretty good, so. We’ll be okay.”

Kenna stretches up to kiss him, then leans her head on his shoulder again. “Any chance I can convince you to take a break?”

Theron tightens his arm around her shoulders, resting his chin on the top of her head. “No, but you can keep me company for a while.”

Kenna slides her arm back around his waist and hooks a finger through one of his belt loops, holding on. “Works for me.”


	19. Awkward (Kenna/Theron)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So back when Kenna and Theron first got together I was throwing out a bunch of relationship headcanons that included the following: "that inevitable time where Kenna opens the door for what she thinks is the takeout delivery guy wearing nothing but one of Theron’s shirts (look, it comes to mid-thigh on her, it’s FINE) and it’s not the delivery guy, it is, in fact, Grandmaster Satele", so I had to make that happen in fic form eventually.

There’d been vague mentions last night of getting breakfast in the morning, but by the time either of them is willing to get out of bed, it’s too late for anything but lunch. They order food from a place nearby and start halfheartedly getting dressed, taking turns in the ‘fresher. Kenna’s still in her underwear when the doorbell chimes, but Theron’s in the middle of shaving, so she glances around and then grabs his shirt off the floor by the bed.

“I got it!” she calls as she pulls on the shirt, and Theron sticks his head through the 'fresher door, bare to the waist and wiping his face with a towel.

“You, uh, gonna put some pants on?” he asks.

“Eh,” Kenna says dismissively as she leaves the bedroom. Theron’s knit shirt, worn soft from constant use, falls to mid-thigh on her, which she figures is fine for a minute-long encounter with the takeout delivery guy.

Except that the person standing in front of her when she opens the door is very much _not_ the takeout delivery guy, unless the war is taking such a toll on the Republic’s economy that Jedi Grandmasters have started moonlighting.

“…Hello, Captain Melete,” Satele Shan says after a moment of nonplussed silence.

Kenna manages to not say the first thing that goes through her mind, which is _shit shit shit_ , and instead says, “Grandmaster Shan! Hi!” in a loud, cheerful voice and hears a muffled clatter and thump from the direction of the bedroom. “Uh. Come on in?”

Satele looks vaguely amused as she steps into Theron’s apartment, and she seems more relaxed than Kenna’s used to seeing her, in a way where she still very much looks like someone who could kill you without breaking a sweat, but also like she probably won’t right now. She’s also not wearing the armor that usually seems as ubiquitous to her as Theron’s jacket is to him, clad in a soft sleeveless tunic and leggings instead.

“Pardon the intrusion,” she says as she and Kenna stand awkwardly in the living room. “I didn’t think to call before coming by.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Kenna says quickly, hearing her father’s voice in her head– _always be polite to Jedi masters, kid, it’s good business sense and also good for survival._ If she ever has kids, she’s going to tell them pretty much the same thing, but add _and make sure you’re wearing pants_ at the end.

Theron comes out of the bedroom, tugging an open-collared white shirt down over his hips, so when Kenna dies of sheer awkwardness she’ll get to go to her grave with the knowledge that he does in fact own at least two shirts.

“Hi,” he says to his mother, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Did we, uh, have plans I forgot about?”

“No,” Satele says, sounding about as stiff as he does. “I was in the area and thought I’d see if you were free for lunch.”

“Oh,” Theron says, glancing at Kenna. “We actually just ordered some food.”

He sounds apologetic, and Kenna thinks of how he and Satele have been spending more time together since Yavin and how pleasantly surprised Theron seemed when he told her about that, and before she can second-guess herself she blurts out, “But we always end up with way more food than we need, so…you could stay and eat with us?”

Theron gets a bit of a womp-rat-in-headlights look, and Satele glances between him and Kenna and says, “Thank you, but I don’t want to intrude any further.” 

“No, it’s–” Theron hesitates for a brief moment, then seems to make up his mind, and says firmly, “It’s fine. You should stay, if you want.”

“All right,” Satele says with a nod. She’s not quite smiling, but Kenna thinks she’s pleased. “Thank you.”

“I’m just gonna go…” Kenna trails off, gesturing toward the bedroom. “Y'know. Pants.”

Satele does smile at that–small, downward-glancing, but definitely a smile. “Yes. Pants are probably a good idea, Captain.”

Theron steps into the bedroom as Kenna’s pulling her leggings up under his shirt, leaning one hip against the doorway. “So…this is happening.”

“Sorry,” Kenna says with a little wince. “It just slipped out.”

Theron shakes his head and crosses to her, putting an arm around her shoulders and kissing her temple. “I appreciate the thought. And it’s fine. It’ll…be good?”

Kenna gives him a wry look. “Think you could sound a little more uncertain there, Shan?”

He chuckles and kisses her again. “Well, it’ll definitely be interesting. Let’s get back out there.”

“Let me just grab my shirt.” Kenna starts to pull Theron’s shirt off, but he stops her, smoothing it back into place with a little grin.

“Nah. This one looks good on you. Come on, Captain, back into the fray.”


	20. Relaxed (Ruqi/Quinn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt "a drunken kiss", featuring the Keres sibling brigade and taking place sometime between Baras's death and Ruqi and Quinn's getting married.

“We’re going out,” Nivony says. “Bring your Imperial.”

“He has a name, you know,” Ruqi says.

“Fine, bring Captain Quinn.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Oh, just that Tashom’s back from the Academy and Zrisha will be heading there herself before too long,” Nivony replies. “Seems like we should take any chance we get for all–for the four of us to be together.”

She doesn’t have to say why she corrected herself; it’s not all of them, not anymore. Ruqi sighs. “All right, but you have to be nice to Quinn. _Actually_ nice, not just ‘I’m saying scary things but in a pleasant tone’.”

It ends up being a rather enjoyable evening. Quinn is on edge at first; he hasn’t spent enough time around any of her siblings to be at ease with them, and in any case, it’s not the worst idea for a lone Imperial on an evening out with four Sith to stay on his toes. Ruqi’s pleased to see that he does relax somewhat as the evening progresses, probably helped along by the fact that her siblings keep buying him drinks.

They’ve secured a private booth in the Nexus Room, and it’s late. Zrisha and Tashom are out on the dance floor, Nivony stationed at the center of the crowd that’s formed around her, as crowds tend to do when Nivony’s in the room. Quinn seems most comfortable staying in their booth, so Ruqi stays with him, settling against his side as he tucks an arm around her.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this drunk?” she says, glancing up at him. “It’s rather amusing, actually.”

“I’m afraid you are mistaken, my lord,” Quinn replies. There’s a flush high on his cheeks and slight haziness in his eyes, but his speech is barely affected, aside from the fact that for once he seems to not be weighing every word carefully before he speaks.

Ruqi lifts her head from his shoulder. “Oh?”

“I would never be so careless as to get drunk while I was trying to make a good impression on your siblings,” he tells her, trying to look solemn and not entirely succeeding. “It would be most unbecoming. I will concede, however, that I am somewhat more relaxed than usual.”

Ruqi laughs. “Well, then you should relax more often, Captain. It’s a good look on you.”

She stretches up for a quick kiss, catching the corner of his lips. Quinn turns his head, chasing her mouth with his and lifting a hand to stroke her cheek.


	21. Amends (Ruqi/Quinn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Quinncident angst written for the prompt "things you said but not out loud".
> 
> I'll get more into this in Those Who Favor Fire eventually, but while I went with the "I forgive you" response for Ruqi in game, for her it's actually more "I WANT to forgive you but you screwed up and hurt me really badly so complete forgiveness is going to take some time".

Quinn sleeps badly, his first night back in his old quarters. He’s always had a soldier’s ability to sleep anywhere, but this has nothing to do with the quality of his accommodations. It’s the first night in months he hasn’t slept in Ruqi’s bed. He hadn’t realized until now how much he’d begun to unofficially move himself into her quarters, how many of his things are still there (he’s going to have to ask if she wants him to remove them all), and how used to sharing a bed he’d become.

The others think this is the aftermath of a simple argument, a lover’s quarrel. Quinn doesn’t entirely understand why Ruqi has shown him that mercy, but then, he doesn’t entirely understand why she didn’t just kill him. 

The ship is quiet when he gives up on getting any more sleep and heads for the galley, and he hopes that means he won’t run into any of the others.

Ruqi is standing in the galley with her back to him, because of _course_ she is.

Before Quinn can retreat back to his bunk, she turns, sniffing and wiping a hand across her eyes as she does so. It’s difficult to tell if a Sith has been crying, but her eyes look slightly puffy and a bit redder than usual.

Quinn has never seen her cry, not once.

“Forgive me, my lord,” he begins, backing out of the room. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Stay,” she says bluntly, halting him in his tracks. “We can’t avoid each other forever.”

“As you say,” Quinn says with a nod. Ruqi steps back to give him a wide berth as he pours himself a mug of caf, and he wonders briefly what would happen if he tried to touch her. Nothing good, he’s sure.

They each sip their caf and stand in awkward silence for a few moments before Quinn clears his throat. “My lord, I feel I must tell you again how sorry I am.” He’s acutely aware of how inadequate those words are–how does one apologize for what he’s done?–but he can’t continue to stand here saying nothing.

“That’s not necessary, Captain,” Ruqi says without looking at him, in the same clipped, remote tone she’s been using since they returned to the Fury. “We don’t need to speak of what occurred any further.”

“I appreciate your discretion, my lord,” he goes on, even as he yells at himself internally to _just stop blathering, man, you’re making it worse_. “I just want to be sure you know–”

Ruqi sets her caf down on the counter and turns to face him, silencing him at once. “Malavai.” Her voice is soft and carefully even. “I know you want to make amends. I hope that will prove possible. But until then, if you keep constantly apologizing to me, I may have to do something drastic.”

“I–yes, my lord. I’m–” Her eyes flash, and Quinn bites his tongue before the next word leaves his mouth. “I’ll be in the medbay if you have need of me,” he says instead, and makes his escape.

It’s a relief to bury himself in work, but he’s not just seeking a distraction. Whatever happens in the days ahead of them, Quinn promises himself, he will be operating at peak efficiency. However he can be of use, whatever she requires of him, he will be ready.

If she wants him to make amends with deeds, not words, then that’s what he’ll do.


	22. A Strong Enough Foundation (Ruqi/Quinn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruqi learns she's pregnant with her and Quinn's first child at a less than ideal time. Lots of pregnancy talk. Disgustingly saccharine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may eventually be folded into Those Who Favor Fire, but I'm miles away from that point in the story and damn it I wanted to write some domestic fluff for them.
> 
> Also, welcome to Dad Quinn Hell, population: me and as many other people as I can latch onto like a kraken made of feelings and drag down into the depths with me.

The plan is to wait a few years before they start trying in earnest to conceive.

The question of children is one of the places the difference in their ages has made itself felt. Quinn, already forty when they marry, is more than ready to be a father. Ruqi, not yet thirty and in her prime as a warrior, shares the desire for children, but would be content to wait quite a while before bearing any. And there are more factors to consider than just their own desires--as conflicts continue to plague the Empire from both inside and out, this is no time for the Wrath to limit her ability to fight, even if only for a matter of months (the idea of adopting or using a surrogate is considered, but ultimately rejected--Ruqi doesn't care about preserving bloodlines to nearly the extent that some Sith do, but she does want a child of her blood, and wants to carry it herself).

After some discussion, they arrive at what seems like a suitable compromise: they'll wait a few years and see if things show any sign of calming down, and if that doesn't happen, Ruqi will explore the possibility of removing herself from active duty for a time, likely designating agents to fight in her stead if needed. Until then, there's a range of options offered by both Imperial science and Sith alchemy to lessen the odds of her conceiving.

They have a plan, and it's a good one.

However, as Ruqi is reminded when she quietly makes an appointment with a doctor in Kaas City after a few weeks of low-level but noticeable symptoms, the will of the Force doesn't always care if you have a plan or not.

"Have you considered your options?" The doctor asks after handing her a datapad with the test results and giving her a moment to review them. "We can provide any information you want, of course."

"I intend on carrying to term," Ruqi says, and the doctor nods.

"In that case, my lord, may I be the first to offer my congratulations?"

Ruqi smiles. "Thank you, Doctor. I need to speak with my husband before I do anything else--can I count on your discretion?"

"Of course, my lord," the doctor says with another deferential nod. "If I can answer any questions or help you in any other way, don't hesitate to let me know."

Ruqi looks down at her still-flat stomach, splaying her hand over it. "Well, I suppose the most pressing question is how soon should I stop running around swinging a lightsaber at things?"

"If you want to err on the side of caution, I'd say as soon as possible," the doctor informs her. "Regular physical activity in moderation shouldn't pose any threat to the pregnancy, but…"

"...But there's regular physical activity in moderation, and then there's what I do," Ruqi finishes wryly.

"Indeed, my lord. The Empire will be poorer for not having you in active service, but I recommend a complete sabbatical, as soon as you can arrange it."

Ruqi allows herself a small internal sigh, then shakes her head. "Well, I suppose that's where having skilled apprentices and a husband who enjoys working out contingency plans will come in handy."

***

Ruqi goes home--not to the grand apartment owned by her parents, but the smaller one that was their wedding present to her and Quinn--to find Quinn out, a note stating that he's running some errands and will be back soon. She goes into the room that serves as a combination of library and sitting room and settles into a cushioned window seat, watching the rain outside with a thoughtful expression. 

It may not be such a bad time for this to happen. The war drags on, yes, but she and her people haven't been involved in an active campaign since their return from Yavin Four. Of course, the main reason for that is Ruqi's desire to be ready if a new serious threat rears its head, be it from their former Emperor or anyone else. In the last conversation she had with Marr, just before her bouts of nausea and fatigue started, she'd reiterated her promise to stand with him and fight for the Empire. A promise not anchored by anything but her own sense of honor and duty, true, but for that very reason one she doesn't relish breaking.

She hears the door slide open, hears Quinn go into the kitchen and start putting things away, calling her name as he does so. 

"In here," she calls, and a few moments later he appears in the doorway. Having already shed his jacket, he loosens his collar and rolls his shirtsleeves up as he comes toward her, bending to kiss the top of her head and then sitting across from her in the window seat.

"I thought I'd make dinner in a bit," he says, one hand resting on her knee. "Perhaps something light if you're still not feeling well."

"That sounds lovely, Malavai." Ruqi places her hand on his, lacing their fingers together, then says, "I saw a doctor today."

"I hadn't realized it was that serious," he says with concern. "I would have gone with you."

"I know," she says with a faint smile. "I wanted to be sure before I told you."

Quinn grips her hand tighter. "Dearest, is something wrong?"

"Oh, no." Ruqi shakes her head, lifting her eyes to his. "No, nothing's wrong at all."

She can see in his eyes the moment it dawns on him, and she doesn't think she's ever seen anything more beautiful. "Ruqi…"

"Yes," she says, smile growing wider. "I'm pregnant."

He leans in to kiss her, cupping her face in both hands. When he draws back, concern crosses his face again for a moment. "And are you--that is to say, we hadn't planned on it happening so soon--"

Ruqi shakes her head again, still smiling. "No, but it has, and I wouldn't give it up for anything."

Beaming with joy, he kisses her again, then impulsively bends down to kiss her belly, framing it with his hands. Ruqi lets out a soft laugh and strokes his hair, and they stay like that for a time, his head resting in her lap.

"I suppose we're going to have to work out a plan sooner rather than later," Quinn says eventually, his words buzzing against her skin. 

"Yes," she says, running her fingertips lightly over his scalp. "But not just yet. Tonight, let's just enjoy it."

He straightens, leaving a hand on her stomach. "Before I met you, I'd begun to think I'd never be a father," he tells her in a low, solemn voice.

"Because of Balmorra?" she asks, running her hand up and down his forearm. "In ten years, was there never anyone you met there who you could see yourself having children with?"

"No one who came anywhere close to you," he tells her. "But even if I had, what could I have offered anyone as a husband, and what sort of father would I have been to a child? Never rising above the rank of Lieutenant, no hope of a posting closer to the heart of the Empire…" He shakes his head, rubbing her belly gently. "You and I can make sure our child will want for nothing, and give them a legacy worth inheriting."

"Malavai…" Ruqi takes his hand, pressing it between both of hers. "The only thing you need to give this child is love, and I know they won't want for that."

"Come here," he says, tugging at her hand, and Ruqi scoots across the window seat, turning to settle with her back to his chest, their hands laced together over her middle and his chin resting on her shoulder. "How do you feel, truly? I would never want to push you into this before you're ready."

"To be honest, I can't say I feel completely ready," she replies slowly. "But I want this, Malavai, you know I do. If I always waited until I was completely ready to reach for the things I want, I wouldn't have half of the things I do." She looks down at their hands, tapping her fingers against his lightly. "It's...intimidating, to suddenly bear this much responsibility for another life. I'm so used to knowing my body, knowing exactly what it can do and what it can take, and now so much is going to change. And it's not just bearing the child...I've seen the mistakes my parents made, with the best of intentions. I'd like to think I've learned enough from that to avoid repeating them, but how can I be sure?"

Quinn nuzzles the space behind her ear, pressing a kiss there. "I have every confidence you'll be a wonderful mother. And you know I'll be here for whatever you need, throughout the pregnancy and beyond."

"I know." She tips her head back for a kiss, then nestles against his shoulder. "We've never met a challenge we couldn't overcome together."

There's much to be figured out, still, people to tell and plans to make, but for now all she wants to do is close her eyes and feel his arms around her and imagine what their child will look like. For now, this is enough.


	23. Coda (Tig/Lana)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little Tig/Lana coda to the Battle of Odessen, in which Tig is...not coping super well with Valkorion's return.

It's been a long day, split between victory celebrations and welcoming new recruits to the Alliance. Every time a new group makes their way into the Odessen base, Tig's craning her neck, scanning the crowd for a woman with short red hair or a guy with a stupid mustache or a grouchy Sith looming over everyone. So far, nothing. _Where_ are _you guys?_

At the end of the day, once she and Lana have retired to their quarters, she clears her throat and speaks up. "I need to tell you something."

Lana's sitting cross-legged on the bed, cleaning her saber hilt; at Tig's serious tone, she sets it aside and looks up. "Yes?"

Tig sits on the edge of the bed. "I saw Valkorion earlier. Just for a second, but for the first time since I went into the woods."

"I see," Lana says quietly. "Well, I would say that now at least we know what his status is, but I'd imagine that's not much consolation."

"No," Tig says, her hands tightening into fists in her lap. "I can't--I need to find a way to get rid of him, Lana. I can't just keep going with him in my head like this."

Jedi aren't supposed to hate. That's what she was taught as a child, and what she's always tried to hold to, even after meeting no shortage of Jedi who do hate or people deserving of hatred--they're not _supposed_ to hate. _She's_ not supposed to. But she hates Valkorion so much it feels like hot coals in her stomach, and she doesn't think anyone could devise a more sadistic torture than having the one person in the galaxy who you hate that much take up residence in your mind.

Lana reaches over, and it's only when she gently pulls Tig's hands open that Tig realizes she's been digging her nails into her palms hard enough to leave marks. "I know. We'll find a way, I promise."

Tig lets out a slow breath and then tugs Lana closer. Their arms go around each other and Tig buries her face in Lana's shoulder, clinging to her tightly.

_Don't get comfy, you bastard,_ she thinks. _I'm getting rid of you, one way or another._


	24. Check In (Kenna/Theron)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenna/Theron for the prompt "one missed call". Takes place in my main headcanon continuity i.e. the one where Tig is the Outlander.

Everything's going crazy right now--every Holonet feed, every comm channel, everyone repeating the same news about the ships coming out of nowhere, about the task force fleet being in pieces all over wild space, about Marr's flagship exploding. Theron's almost switched his implants off out of sheer overload a couple of times, but he needs to stay connected, needs to know what's going on.

He'd called Kenna a while ago, let it keep ringing long after the point where he had any real hope of her picking up, and finally left a message asking her to call him as soon as she can. The last time they'd talked, she was debating heading out there with the others--just for moral support, she'd said with a shrug, as if tagging along to hunt down and try to fight an incorporeal, immortal mass murderer is just something you do to support your friends. 

When a call with her frequency finally comes in, he scrambles to connect to the nearest terminal. Kenna's image comes up, looking frazzled and tired but not like she's been in any recent explosions.

"Theron?"

He breathes out a sigh of relief, shoulders slumping. "You're all right."

"More or less," she tells him. "Sorry I missed your call, we've been all over the place picking up escape pods and getting people to transports. I--what?" She looks off to the side, having half a conversation with someone he can't see or hear. "Really? You're gonna get on me about this _now_? Oh, nothing, I just figure that when someone who rescues you from the vacuum of space out of the goodness of their heart happens to have contraband lying around, the polite thing to do is _ignore_ it." She looks back to Theron, shaking her head. "I swear, some of these people have no damn etiquette."

He smiles, in spite of the situation. "So I take it you weren't on the flagship."

Kenna shakes her head, then tells him solemnly, "Tig was."

Theron swears softly. Of course she was. "Any sign yet? Of her or Marr?"

"Not yet, but we're not giving up. I mean, if there were ever two people stubborn enough to make it out of something like this…"

"Right," Theron agrees. "I'll let you get back to it, I just...needed to check in."

She smiles. "I'm glad you did."

"Be careful out there, okay? I--" _I love you_ 's on the tip of his tongue, but doesn't make it past there. He doubts she wants to hear it for the first time like this, over a spotty connection while she's rushed off her feet and worrying about Tig. "I'll see you when you get back."

"I'm always careful," Kenna says blithely, and then turns to the side again. "Look, if anyone wants to go _back_ out into space I can arrange that, otherwise everyone sit down and keep your hands to yourself." She glances back at Theron with a crooked smile. "Gotta go. See you."


	25. Introduction (Vondalian and Ruqi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written a lot yet with my Inquisitor, Vondalian, but basically, she's a Chaotic Neutral Mirialan who approaches the galaxy with a combination of disarming friendliness and a willingness to fuck shit up if needed. This is how she and Ruqi meet at the Academy on Korriban, written for the prompt "ladies don't start fights, but they can finish them".

Ruqi doesn't know the name of the Mirialan walking with her head buried in an ancient text from the library, though she's seen her around--one of Harkun's latest batch, she thinks. She does, unfortunately, know the Sith moving to block the acolyte's path with arms folded--Ffon, one of the sort who thinks the purity of his blood gives him license to treat others however he wants.

"You think you're very clever, don't you? Think you're more fit to be Zash's apprentice than I am?"

The Mirialan looks up from her book slowly and replies in a calm, light tone. "This may shock you, but I actually don't think about you enough to have a strong opinion. Some of us are here to learn, not obsess over our fellow students."

She tries to move around him, but he grabs her by the shoulder. "I'm getting tired of that smart mouth of yours, slave."

The girl's violet eyes flash, but her voice stays pleasant. "Let go of me, Ffon."

"I don't think so," he says, looming over her. "If you're so eager to learn, _slave_ , I think maybe it's time I taught you how to address your betters."

The Mirialan moves like a snake striking, almost too fast for Ruqi to track it. In a moment, she has Ffon's arm twisted behind his back, one hand between his shoulder blades and the other locked around his wrist. She twists just a bit further and an involuntary cry escapes him. 

"Now, I think I've been very patient, and even friendly, but I have my limits," she says in that same pleasant tone. "I have to put up with Harkun; I _don't_ have to put up with you. Touch me again and I take your hand. Call me 'slave' again and I take your tongue. Do you understand?"

Ffon's eyes dart around and land on the only person in sight right now--Ruqi, leaning against the wall watching them with mild curiosity.

"You," he calls, voice rough-edged with pain. "Keres. Are you just going to stand there and let this sl--"

He cuts himself off, and Ruqi folds her arms with a smile. "Oh, _please_ , Ffon, don't stop there."

Ffon flushes a darker red with anger. "The Overseers will hear of this. You, attacking a fellow acolyte, and you, just watching it happen. They'll--"

"Mm, no, I don't think so." Ruqi pushes off the wall and walks toward them. "Not unless you want everyone to know just how easily she got the better of you, and you don't want that, do you, Ffon?" She briefly glances up at the Mirialan, who meets her eyes calmly, and then looks back at Ffon. "Now, I believe your fellow acolyte asked you a question. Did you understand her?"

He snarls, then gives a sullen, "Yes."

"Good!" The Mirialan chirps, and releases him. "Off you go, then."

Ffon glares at them both, but departs without another word, rubbing his arm. Ruqi looks back at the girl. "Nicely handled."

"Thank you," she replies, bending to retrieve her book. "Keres, was it?"

"Ruqi Keres," Ruqi says, offering a hand. 

The Mirialan shakes her hand. Her touch is cool and light, but Ruqi can feel the strength in it. "Vondalian Metis."


	26. Kid (Seme)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Backstory for my second-generation character Lesha, a Togruta Jedi who gets adopted by Aric and Seme during the course of KOTFE. Takes place in the main Tig-is-the-Outlander continuity.

The Alliance doesn't have the resources or the people to combat all Zakuul's tyranny, not yet, but they do what they can. Following the latest brutal attack on a world where the locals dared to mount a resistance, they've quickly cobbled together a relief team, with everyone who can be spared from other duties heading for a little moon few of them had heard of until its people tried to stand up to Arcann and paid dearly for it.

Even on such a small world, they have their hands full, with population centers all over hit hard. Seme's leading a search-and-rescue team through some rubble that was probably a nice little town once, finding more corpses than survivors, when a call comes over her commlink.

"Colonel?" She doesn't recognize the voice, but judging by the accent it's probably an Imperial. She's still learning all their names. "We're having a bit of trouble with one of the survivors."

"What kind of trouble?" Seme asks, half-carrying a limping man toward a medic station.

"The kind where we're trying to get her out of the hole she's in and she knocks ever time we get close. Kid can use the Force, it looks like. Should we wait for one of our Force users to come deal with her?"

"Last I checked, they were all pretty tied up healing people or shifting rubble," Seme says, easing her charge onto a bench and signaling the closest medic. "Send me your coordinates, I'll come take a look."

Five minutes later, she's at the wreck of a bombed-out house, removing her helmet and tucking it under her arm before crouching down to meet the wary gaze of a Togruta girl who looks about five years old. The girl's folded up tight in a corner, arms around her knees, and the ends of her dark-blue-patterned lekku are twitching in anxiety. She's cut and bruised in various places, but doesn't appear too badly hurt.

Seme straightens up and glances at the two Imperials who called her. "Either of you try actually talking to her? She looks scared to death, probably doesn't know we're any different than the people who destroyed her home."

"Well...no, sir, we didn't. I mean, she's just a--" That's as far as the one speaking gets before his companion elbows him sharply, at which he flushes and snaps his mouth shut.

Seme stares at him just long enough to make sure he's good and uncomfortable. "...Right. Instead of however you were going to finish that thought, how about you go report to Major Jorgan and see if he needs you anywhere else? If you can handle taking orders from a Cathar, that is."

"Right away, sir!" The soldier snaps off with a salute, and then he's gone. Imperial discipline has its moments, Seme thinks.

"Does that go for me too, sir?" the remaining Imperial asks.

"No, you're gonna go find me a medkit and some rations," Seme tells her, and she nods, but lingers.

"I just wanted to say, sir...not all of us think like that. About aliens, I mean."

"That's great, but enough of you still do to make things really shitty for a lot of people I care about," Seme says brusquely. The soldier looks down, chastened, and she sighs. "Sorry, that was...unhelpful. Thanks. It is good to know there are Imperials like you out there."

The soldier nods. "Yes, sir. I'll go see about those supplies."

As she goes off, Seme kneels again, looking back at the Togruta girl. "Hey, there," she says in a light, easy voice. "Don't guess you want to come out?"

The girl eyes her warily and scoots even further back, pressing herself against the wall.

"Okay," Seme says. "That's okay. We can talk like this. My name's Seme. You got a name?"

Deep brown eyes continue to regard her suspiciously over the girl's knees, but after a moment she lifts her chin and says "Lesha."

"Lesha, okay." The Imperial who Seme dispatched for supplies comes back with her hands full, and Seme takes a ration bar and a canteen and holds them out. "Want something to eat or drink?"

Lesha says nothing, but a look of interest creeps into her eyes. Seme stretches her hands out further, reaching as far into the hole as she can without outright climbing into it. It's not quite far enough for the girl to reach, but she slowly unfolds herself from the tight ball she's in, shuffles forward just enough to snatch the rations and canteen from Seme's hands. Backing against the wall again, eyes still bright and wary, she tears into the ration bar so furiously Seme's afraid she might choke on a mouthful, pausing only to gulp water.

Seme gives her a few minutes to eat and drink, settling into a more comfortable sitting position. She reaches for the medkit the Imperial brought her and then waves the soldier away so that there's no one but her in Lesha's field of vision. 

"I know you don't want to come out, and you probably don't want me to come in there," she says, holding up the medkit. "But I'd really like to make sure you're all right. So I'm just gonna sit here for a while in case you decide to come out, okay?"

The girl finishes off her ration bar and takes a few more long pulls from the canteen, water trickling down her chin. Her dark eyes dart over Seme again, still wary, but also curious. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and then pipes up. "Can I see your gun?"

Seme's rifle is slung over her shoulder, and the safety's on, but she figures it's probably still not a good idea to hand a deadly weapon to a traumatized, suspicious, Force-sensitive child. "Mmmm, no, don't think so." She glances around for an alternative and then offers her helmet. "How about this?"

That offering seems to please Lesha, who creeps forward again and reaches for the helmet. Seme pulls it back at the last second and gives her a hopeful smile. "Come on out, and it's all yours."

Lesha's moment of hesitation this time is shorter than her earlier ones. Seme moves back to let her crawl out, and the girl settles next to her and snatches the helmet before Seme can pull it back again. She turns it over in her hands, peers inside the opening, lifts it in front of her face to look through the eye holes. Making all her movements slow and deliberate, Seme opens a pack of kolto gel and reaches out to dab it on the worst of the girl's cuts. Lesha starts at the first touch of the cool gel, but doesn't object or try to move away.

Seme powers up the medkit's field scanner, grateful it doesn't make much noise beside a quiet hum, and lets it run while she keeps treating what she can see.

Lesha speaks up, still turning Seme's helmet over in her hands. "Did you and your friends make the skymen go away?"

The way she says _skymen_ instantly conjures an image of Skytroopers descending from drop ships in droves, and Seme thinks about what kind of boogeymen they must be to a kid living out on a backwater world like this.

"Yep," she says. "I wish we had gotten here sooner, but we'll do our best to make sure they don't come back." 

Lesha sets the helmet on the ground in front of her, shifting to sit cross-legged with her hands on her knees. She peers at it intently, brow furrowed, and after a moment the helmet rises into the air, bobbing slightly as Lesha holds it aloft with the Force.

She speaks in a rush, words tumbling over each other, eyes still fixed on the levitating helmet. "Mama and Daddy told me to go down in the basement and hide when they came. They said _they'd_ make the skymen go away, but they didn't. I could still hear fighting outside. Then the house blew up."

The helmet falls abruptly, bouncing off a corner of debris and rolling a few feet away, and Lesha looks up at Seme with her eyes wide and her lower lip trembling. "Are they dead?"

"Oh, honey…" Seme reaches for her instinctively, and Lesha lets herself be pulled close, lets Seme bring a hand around to cup the back of her head as she buries her face against Seme's side. "I...I don't know. We're still trying to find out what happened to everyone here."

This settlement seems to have had a sizable Togruta population, so the fact that she's seen her share of dead Togruta already today doesn't necessarily mean Lesha's parents were among them. On the other hand, she can't help but think that if she were a mother with a young daughter in this place, nothing short of having her legs blown off would have kept her from making it back to where her child was waiting.

"What's gonna happen to me if they are dead?" Lesha asks, voice muffled against Seme's armor and choked with tears.

"Then I'm gonna make sure you'll be all right," Seme answers with no hesitation. She keeps one arm tucked around the girl, stroking her lekku soothingly. "I promise, Lesha, you're gonna be all right."


	27. Spirit of Cooperation (Aviza/Vector/Theron)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So:
> 
> -I had Aviza romance Theron on her Shadow of Revan playthrough
> 
> -my headcanon for Aviza and Vector is that they're both pansexual polyamorous space nerds who will happily sleep their way across the galaxy while remaining devoted to each other
> 
> -I'm not sure how much of this, if any, will make it into my main continuity for my legacy, since Theron ends up with Kenna there. But for now, here's some poly space nerds gently seducing themselves an SIS agent.

Theron's read her file, of course, pulled a copy from the SIS database as soon as he confirmed that the woman Lana calls Commander Aviza is, in fact, the former Cipher Nine. He knows everything the SIS knows for sure about her--that she did a spell as a double agent, that she killed Ardun Kothe, that for the past several years she's been operating as a free agent, working with the Empire but no longer swearing allegiance to them. He's also heard the rumors--that she overcame some pretty nasty brainwashing fuckery by reprogramming her own brain to be immune to outside control, that she uncovered an intergalactic conspiracy, that she has custody of some of the most coveted intelligence data in the galaxy and once killed five Sith who tried to take it from her.

Theron's pretty sure at least some of that is exaggeration. He has it on good authority that it was only two Sith.

But reading her file doesn't tell him what it's going to be like to be around Aviza and the tall black-eyed man who seems a near-constant presence at her shoulder (Vector Hyllus, both less and more of an enigma, less because his file is more straightforward and more because the picture it paints is of a man unlike anyone Theron's ever known). Reading her file didn't prepare him for having those luminous red eyes fixed on him, or for the way she seems gently amused by everything right up to the moment she lifts her rifle to her shoulder and all trace of levity falls away.

It definitely didn't prepare him for having her flirt with him as if they were the only two people in the room, as if they didn't just narrowly escape getting blown up by Revan, and as if she wasn't still technically his enemy--or at least, too closely allied with his enemies for comfort.

"So coy. I think someone in the SIS has a crush on me." 

"What? Me, into you, that's--I mean, don't be ridiculous." Caught off-guard, floundering, he glances at Vector standing beside her and asks, "Anyway, aren't you two married?"

"We are," Vector says, surveying him with what Theron's pretty sure is mild interest. "Is that a problem for you, Agent Shan?"

***

They came for him.

Theron knows Lana let the Revanites take him to see what information he could get from them--not a bad plan, and one he probably would have agreed to if she'd given him that option. It's occurred to him that Aviza and Vector could have been in on Lana's plans, that this whole rescue could be some twisted version of Good Imp, Bad Imp, but he doesn't think so. He's been learning how to read them both, and their concern for him seems pretty genuine.

He could have-- _would_ have--gotten out of here on his own. But. He's still glad they came for him.

They're almost to the door when Theron's legs buckle under him, the earlier ordeal catching up with him all at once. His wounds are throbbing and whatever the Revanites drugged him with hasn't fully left his system, and it's mostly adrenaline and stubbornness that's gotten him this far.

"Agent Shan, are you all right?" Strong hands on his waist and his back, and a melodious voice in his ear. Theron looks up to meet dark eyes as Vector puts a hand on the back of his neck, squeezing gently. "Take it slowly."

"We need to move." Aviza's voice is sharp, her slight form tensed for action as her eyes sweep the area behind and in front of them. "Vector, can you carry him?"

"I can walk," Theron insists, though he's not entirely sure he can. Vector helps him to his feet, one arm firm around his middle, and Theron slings one arm around the other man's shoulders and grips his blaster with the other.

"Let's go, then," she says, and then drops one of the Revanites standing guard by the door with a headshot. "I'll cover our retreat."

Outside the stronghold Theron was being kept in, a horde of Revanites descends toward them. Aviza whirls and fires off a single, precise shot. Theron doesn't see what she hits, but it explodes, and their attackers scatter, some knocked down by the blast, others rushing to try and contain the ensuing flames. Theron lifts his blaster and he and Aviza easily pick off the handful still coming at them.

They make it past the compound's outer wall and break for the cover of the jungle, a knot of pursuers close behind them. Aviza makes some signal to Vector and then peels off, firing back over her shoulder and crashing through the underbrush in a very obvious and un-spy-like manner. 

"Wait, where is she going?" Theron asks as Vector herds him in a different direction, moving as quietly as possible. 

"To lead them off," Vector says, adding with clear fondness, "Don't worry, she'll be fine."

Blaster fire and shouts ring out as Vector leads them to a shallow depression in the ground, easing Theron down to sit against a fallen tree trunk. Theron takes a moment, waiting for his head to stop spinning, then says, "Thanks. For coming after me."

Vector gives him a slight smile. "We know you may find it hard to trust us, Agent Shan, but we're in this together."

Vector's perceptive, but in this case he's not quite right. It _should_ be hard to trust them, but it's easy, too easy, and that throws Theron off way more than simple, familiar suspicion would.

He doesn't say any of that. What he does say is, "Call me Theron."

"Theron," Vector says, and then reaches up, touching Theron's chin and turning his head to examine his bruises. "How badly are you hurt?"

"Not that badly," Theron lies, trying to keep his mind on the impending doom awaiting the Republic and Imperial fleets and not on Vector's strong, slender fingers on his jaw. "I can make it back to...where are we going, anyway?"

Aviza darts into sight at that moment, throwing herself down into the ditch beside them, bright-eyed and breathing hard. She looks at them, and her fierce heat-of-battle smile slides into something different.

"What did I miss?" she asks. "Not starting without me, are you?"

"This is hardly the time or place." Vector says chidingly, letting Theron go. 

"You say that like we haven't kissed people in worse situations," Aviza says blithely, then pushes herself back to her feet, shouldering her rifle. "But I suppose we are on a bit of a tight schedule. Shall we, gentlemen?"

Theron accepts a hand up from Vector, holding onto him a little longer than strictly necessary. "Do I want to ask about what worse situations you've kissed people in?" he asks, and Vector smiles and pats him on the back, hand lingering between Theron's shoulder blades. 

"Perhaps later, if we have time."

***

Aviza had insisted on a day to rest and recover before they depart Rishi for Yavin 4. In the shape he's in (and with the taste of her still on his lips) Theron found it hard to argue, which isn't to say he didn't try.

"And if one day ends up being the difference between us stopping Revan, and him waking up the Emperor and sealing the galaxy's fate?"

"Then that's just going to be too bad for galaxy, but I think it can afford to wait until we're in better shape to save it," she'd said, before locking eyes with him, smiling sweetly, and asking "Now, are you going to go see a medic, Agent Shan, or do I have to make you?" 

Now, as their one day of rest slides into afternoon, it's hard to shake the feeling that he should be _doing_ something, but equally hard to will himself to move. He's in a hut in the Rishi village, in what can only be described as a literal nest of blankets and cushions, sandwiched between Aviza and Vector. 

Last night was...interesting. Theron pushed himself harder than he probably should have, trying to keep pace with them, but at least the soreness he feels now is for much more pleasant reasons than yesterday's, and he's gained a new appreciation for Imperial ingenuity and the spirit of cooperation. Vector's asleep, his breath tickling the back of Theron's neck, but Theron glances down to where Aviza's tucked in the crook of his arm and finds her open-eyed, her lips moving faintly as if she's talking to herself, trying to work something out in her head. She stops when she sees him looking, and Theron smirks and runs a hand through the sweat-damp tangle of loose curls on his shoulder. 

"Too late," he mutters. "Caught you."

Aviza stirs against him, bracing one hand on his chest and looking up at him in amusement. "And what exactly is it you think you just caught me doing, Theron?"

"Being as bad at this whole resting thing as I am," he replies.

"No one's as bad at this as you are," she says, softening the words with a kiss to the underside of his jaw. "But yes, I don't have the easiest time slowing down or letting go of things."

There's a sleepy hum from behind, and then Vector's voice in Theron's ear. "Which is precisely why you both need to do it sometimes." Without raising his head, he lifts his arm from around Theron's waist and gropes for Aviza, who takes his hand in both of hers and brings it to her face, kissing his palm. "And why someone needs to make you, if you won't do it on your own."

Theron tips his head back so his hair brushes against Vector's face and neck, smirking again. "So if she's bad at it, and I'm worse, I guess that leaves you to make us, huh?"

Still cupping Aviza's face in one hand, Vector shifts until he can loop his other arm around Theron's neck, pulling Theron more securely against him. "Exactly," he murmurs, nuzzling Theron's shoulder. "Now both of you go back to sleep."


	28. Sunbathe (Ruqi/Quinn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruqi and Quinn on their honeymoon, for the prompt "sunbathing".

The only hard-and-fast requirements they agreed on for their honeymoon were _quiet_ and _warm_ , with _currently unaffected by the war_ preferred but not a necessity. Naboo's lake country fits those criteria and more beautifully.

Ruqi can't remember the last time she felt this relaxed, and she's certain it will be a long time before she's able to again. It was hard to get away and harder not to feel guilty about it, but it's been a gift, this little stretch of time where she doesn't have to be the Wrath, doesn't have to be anything but a new wife spending time with her husband. Neither she or Quinn have set foot past the edge of the property they've rented in days, and they've filled that time with swimming in the lake and relaxing in the sun, with long walks in the afternoons and making dinner in the evenings, and with each other.

This afternoon, Ruqi left Quinn on the veranda with a book while she went for a long swim, cutting through the cool, clear water with powerful strokes. When she finally leaves the lake, wringing her hair out and wrapping herself in a towel, he's just where she left him, stretched out on a cushioned bench in the sunlight. 

Ruqi slows as she approaches, taking a moment to just look at him. He looks asleep, or at least dozing, one hand tucked behind his head and the other still loosely holding the book in his lap. He's barefoot, clad in loose trousers and a button-down shirt, open at the throat to show his collarbone. After nearly a week here, his usual pallor has given way to a light tan, freckles standing out on his cheeks and arms. 

She goes to sit on the edge of the bench, still toweling off, and Quinn blinks and stirs as water from the ends of her hair drips onto him.

"You're getting me wet," he says without opening his eyes, not so much a protest as a simple observation.

"Well, isn't that a shame," Ruqi says as she lies down on top of him, swinging her legs up to tangle with his and nestling against his chest. Quinn makes a small noise of protest, but his concern seems more for his book than his clothing; he stretches out to put the book aside before draping his arm around her and tilting his head down to kiss her wet hair. 

"Did you enjoy your swim?" he murmurs, and she can hear the smile in his voice as he adds, "Wife?"

Ruqi hums in assent, then lifts her head from his chest with a smile. "Did you enjoy your nap, husband?"

Quinn shifts, moving the arm from behind his head to put it around her as well. "I'm enjoying it more now."

Ruqi curls into him and closes her eyes, letting out a sigh of contentment.


	29. Uncle (Ruqi/Quinn, Pierce)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff brought on by the realization that [Pierce is totally Dzana's uncle.](http://meletelegacy.tumblr.com/post/151367003951/almost-had-dzana-flirt-with-pierce-just-to-see)

Quinn wakes to the sound of the shower running, and almost lets it soothe him back to sleep before the water shuts off and he realizes what he _doesn't_ hear--Dzana crying, or cooing to herself in her crib, or even the sound of her breathing in her sleep over the baby monitor, already as familiar to Quinn as his own heartbeat.

"Where's the baby?" he mutters sleepily as Ruqi comes out of the fresher.

She sits on the edge of the bed, squeezing her wet hair with a towel. "Pierce stopped by. Offered to watch her while I took a shower."

"I see," Quinn says, which earns him a poke in the shoulder. 

"Don't you 'I see' me in that tone, Malavai," Ruqi says, fond and annoyed at the same time. "Say what you want to say or hold your peace."

Quinn rubs his shoulder, debating whether to say more or let it be, and finally comes out with "You _do_ know he does this to annoy me, don't you?"

"Of course I do." Ruqi balls up her towel and tosses it in the general direction of the fresher door, then reaches for her brush on the nightstand. "I also know I'm not going to turn down freely offered childcare from a man I trust with my life just because he has a relatively harmless ulterior motive for offering it."

Watching her move in the low light of their bedroom, Quinn reaches out to touch her bare skin, skimming his fingers along the curve of her waist and rubbing his thumb along the cut of her hip. "I suppose I am being irrational. I just...can't help but feel he's rubbing it in my face how much she likes him."

Ruqi gives him an amused look over her shoulder, still brushing her hair. "She's a baby. He likes to toss her in the air and do funny voices while he's reading her stories, of course she likes him." She sets her brush down and turns toward him, stretching out on the bed and pulling the covers up over her legs. "Now, you can go wrest your daughter from Pierce's nefarious clutches, or you can take advantage of the fact that both of us are here and neither of us has baby vomit in our hair, and take a nap with your wife."

When Quinn wakes again, Ruqi is fast asleep. He presses a kiss to her shoulder and then eases away, slipping out of bed to get dressed. 

Out in the living room, he can hear Pierce's voice, first raised to a ridiculous falsetto and then lowered to a gruff rumble. Dzana gives one of her delighted baby laughs that's more ear-piercing shriek than anything, and Quinn rounds the corner to see Pierce leaning back on the sofa with her lifted above his head, wriggling happily. At the sight of Quinn, Pierce lowers Dzana instantly, tucking her in the crook of his arm as he stands. 

"Afternoon, Captain. Was just starting to wonder if I should find the sprog something to eat myself or wake one of you up to do it."

"I'll take care of it," Quinn says as he reaches for Dzana, his heart warmed by the way she instantly holds out her hands to him, smiling and babbling. He gets her settled against his chest, then says, "I must say, Lieutenant, you're...much better with her than I would have expected. And we do appreciate the help."

Pierce shrugs. "I've got a niece and nephew. It's easy to be good with 'em when you only ever have to do it for a few hours at a time." He passes a hand over Dzana's feathery dark curls, smiling crookedly. "You be good, now, kid. Don't give your dad a harder time than he deserves."

Quinn snorts, though he can't help but smile as well. "Thank you for that, Lieutenant."


	30. Barrier (Ruqi/Quinn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt "the way you said I love you: muffled, from the other side of the door". Ruqi hasn't even started KOTFE because I won't let Bioware take her husband away, but that doesn't mean I can't write completely AU reunion scenarios.

The Eternal Empire and five years in carbonite couldn't keep them apart; damned if Ruqi's going to let a kriffing _door_ do it.

"What's the holdup?" She asks after the third time Theron swears and pounds the console on their side of the door with his fist.

"Zakuul's been getting cute with their encryption methods." He tries something else, fingers dancing over the keyboard, and adds in a chagrined tone, "Guess they noticed someone's been slicing into their data banks and security systems a lot lately."

"Move." Ruqi ignites her lightsaber, then calls, "Malavai? Stand back from the door, I'm cutting through."

"I think you'd better leave the door to Agent Shan, my lord," he calls back. "My scanners show a Skytrooper patrol coming your way." He pauses a moment, then adds in concern, "A very large patrol."

Ruqi growls impatiently and turns, fixing her gaze on the end of the corridor, still clear for now. "Theron, I don't care what you have to do, _make this door stop being between me and my husband_."

"Working on it," he replies. "Go...Wrath out or whatever."

Just as she starts forward, Quinn's voice from the other side of the door halts her. "Ruqi--"

He breaks off, and she prompts, "Yes?"

"...Be careful," is all he says, but she can hear much more than that in his voice. She can hear five years of longing and hope and struggling not to give into despair, coupled with the frustration that now, when he should be fighting at her side again, they're still being kept apart.

She reaches out and rests a hand against the cool metal surface of the door. "I'll see you soon," she promises.

"I know." It's pure fancy, but she imagines him touching the door on his side as well. His voice is stronger and surer when he says, "Go, my love. Show them who they're dealing with."


	31. Recuperate (Ruqi/Quinn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pure comfort fluff for the prompt "the way you said I love you: with a hoarse voice, under the blankets".

Quinn rarely gets sick, and when he does he's reluctant to admit it. It takes Ruqi pointing out that it would be better for him to rest now and hopefully be restored to peak efficiency soon, rather than keep working when he's not at his best and risk making mistakes.

When he finally concedes the point and she gets him in bed, he drops off within minutes, and Ruqi lets him sleep for a few hours before she goes to the galley. They restocked on fresh ingredients recently, so after a little poking around she's able to come up with a reasonable approximation of an old herbal tea remedy her father's always sworn by. She takes it into their quarters, sits on the edge of the bed, and shakes Quinn's shoulder gently.

"What is this?" he says when he sits up and she hands him the tea, voice rough from his cough. 

"It's disgusting and healthy," she informs him. "Drink it." 

He complies, wrinkling his nose at the taste but not complaining. While he drinks the tea down, Ruqi takes off her belt and boots, leaving on the light robes she favors when they're traveling with no serious threat of impending combat. When Quinn finishes his tea, she takes the cup and puts it aside, then pulls back the covers and gets into bed.

He makes a small noise of protest. "I don't want to get you sick."

"Oh, please, I don't have your paltry human immune system," she replies, slipping an arm around him and guiding his head onto her shoulder.

Quinn sniffs and nestles against her as she pulls the blankets back up around them. "I love you," he mutters against her neck.

Ruqi hums and strokes his hair. "I love you, too. Go back to sleep."


	32. Ticklish (Kenna/Theron)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt "Gargalesthesia - The sensation caused by tickling".

She jerks involuntarily when Theron kisses a spot just below her ribs, the movement slight but noticeable enough to make him pause and glance up at her.

"Tickles," Kenna explains, sliding the fingers of one hand into his hair. 

Theron pushes his head against her hand, encouraging, until her fingers tighten, then brushes his lips against her skin experimentally, just above her belly button. "That good or bad?"

Her muscles tighten as he smoothes a palm over her stomach, and she wills herself to relax. "Jury's still out."

Few things make her feel more vulnerable than having her ticklish spots touched when she's in bed with someone, and historically it's been kind of a mixed bag how she feels about that. When Lenn Teraan did it, she'd covered his hands with hers and dragged them back up to her breasts, a move he hadn't protested. On the other hand, Lokir-Ka had made her come just by whispering Voss poetry against her stomach with one hand rubbing slowly between her legs.

"Can I make an argument in my favor?" Theron asks, low voice buzzing against her, and when she hums approvingly he plants a open-mouthed kiss low on her belly and then drags his mouth across to the line of her hip, tongue rasping against her skin.

Kenna arches her back with a cry that's more gasp than sound, fingers clenching briefly in his hair. "Oh--okay, that goes firmly in the 'good' column."

Theron grins and trails a line of kisses back up her body until his head's between her breasts, his hand still stroking her stomach gently. 

"Wouldn't have pegged you as ticklish," he says thoughtfully, lifting his head to look at her. "Gonna have to add that to your file."

Kenna brings her hand down from his hair to trace the line of his jaw, quirking an eyebrow. "Would that be my official SIS file, or a personal one?"

Theron bends to touch his lips to hers, then kisses his way over to her ear before murmuring, "Let's just say your official SIS file doesn't have notes in it about how your laugh drives me crazy or I want to kiss every one of your freckles."

It's kind of a corny line, when Kenna thinks about it, but you couldn't tell from the way her heart pounds and her breath catches in her throat. "Every one? That's gonna take a while."

Theron's hand slides lower on her belly, fingertips resting just above her underwear as he brings his mouth back to hers. "Good thing we've finally got some time to ourselves."


	33. Morning (Tig/Lana)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt "things you said when we were the happiest we ever were". I'LL TELL YOU WHAT: It's hard to find a time for this pairing when they've had some simple, uncomplicated happiness.

_The future doesn't have to start just yet_ , Lana had said just before they slipped off by themselves last night. Now it's dawn, the future's looming. Tig has no idea what's next in terms of fighting the Emperor, she has no idea if the success of the Yavin Coalition means lasting peace between Republic and Empire might be possible or if that's a foolish thing to hope for, and she has no idea when she's going to see Lana again after they leave Yavin Four.

And somehow that does nothing to change how happy she is sitting here with Lana's head on her shoulder, watching the jungle around them get brighter.

"We should head back soon," she says eventually, but doesn't take her arms from around Lana.

"I suppose," Lana says, without lifting her head.

They sit quietly a few more moments before Tig pulls back just enough to look at her. "Hey…" she says softly. "You know I'm never going to forget this, you know that, right? Whatever happens next, I'm never going to forget the time we've had together."

Lana lifts a hand to her cheek, a tiny smile on her face. "I won't either, I promise you."

Tig kisses her fingertips, then reluctantly pulls away enough to stand, offering Lana a hand up. Come on. We'd better get back before someone sends out a search party."


	34. Longing (Ruqi/Quinn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt "Mamihlapinatapei - The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move". Does not conform exactly to the prompt as this takes place after their first kiss, while Ruqi is waiting for Quinn to make the next move.

Over a month has passed since they kissed. Ruqi hasn't made any further advances, but Quinn's confident her interest in him hasn't waned. She still flirts as she has since they met on Balmorra, but more telling than that is the way she looks at him, touches him--a gentle hand on his back as she moves through his space on the bridge, warm fingers grazing his wrist to get his attention while they study a schematic or review a mission report--even the way she says his name.

Quinn wonders if his own feelings are as apparent to her, if she can tell he's being driven slowly out of his mind with longing.

It was so much easier before the kiss, when he could tell himself that he had no business entertaining these kind of thoughts about his lord and that the flirtation was a game she would likely tire of. Back when he'd never felt that intoxicating mix of yielding warmth and indomitable strength as he held her by the waist and kissed her, or the sheer thrill of having her order him to do exactly what he wanted (what he wanted most in the entire galaxy but couldn't bring himself to do without that command, that _permission_ to give in). Back when he didn't know the way she tasted. 

He can hear her laughter as he descends the short flight of steps from the bridge, dark and rich, laid over Vette's incessant chatter and an occasional low interjection from Jaesa. The three of them are seated in the lounge area, Vette in the middle of telling some story. Whatever it is has Jaesa leaning forward with a flush on her cheeks, looking half-scandalized and half-fascinated, and Ruqi throwing her head back to laugh again, the gold bands on her throat flashing as they catch the light.

Before he can rein his thoughts in, Quinn has a vivid mental image of himself crossing the room, sinking a hand into her dark hair, and bending to press his mouth to her neck. He wonders just how the contrast between soft skin and hard metal would feel against his tongue, imagines her laugh turning to a gasp and then a moan.

Ruqi's head tips forward again, and as their eyes meet, Quinn is sure his desires are written on his face. She stares at him for a moment, lips parted--and then curving into a small, confident smile.

The excuse he stammers in response to her invitation to join them is barely coherent, but it serves to get him away from her gaze and into the privacy of his quarters, where he can lean against the closed door and shut his eyes and wait for the heat flooding his body to recede.


	35. Life Day Baking (Ruqi/Quinn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written back in December when my own holiday baking + my headcanon that Quinn's really good at baking made me want to write some domestic fluff. Takes place at some point after Ruqi becomes the Wrath but before we get too deep into expansion territory.

"How is it that this is our third Life Day together and we've never done something like this before?" Ruqi asks, setting a grocery bag on the kitchen island and starting to take things out.

"It _has_ been a busy few years," Quinn points out, going through the cupboards to pull out bowls and whisks and other tools. "And the galley on the Fury isn't exactly optimal for baking."

"True," Ruqi agrees. "And all the more reason to enjoy it now that we have a chance." She finishes laying out the ingredients they bought and looks them over. "Although fair warning, you're going to have to take the lead on this one, Captain."

She can put together a meal easily enough, but baking's never really been in her wheelhouse. She hadn't been surprised to learn it is in Quinn's.

"I shall do my best, my love." His voice comes from the walk-in pantry off the main kitchen, and a moment later he reappears with bags of flour and sugar tucked in the crook of one arm and two aprons draped over his other. "Start with this."

Ruqi takes one of the aprons, slipping it over the light civilian clothing she has on. After setting his burden down, Quinn does the same, and rolls the sleeves of his white shirt up past his elbows, fastening them there. 

He takes stock of everything laid out on the counter and then passes her an orange, a small bowl, and a grater. "I need this zested, please." While she gets started on that, he starts measuring out flour, spices, and other dry ingredients, leveling off every measuring cup he fills as if he's preparing them for military inspection. "Did you celebrate Life Day growing up?" he asks as they work. "I know not all Sith do."

Ruqi shrugs. "Sort of. I mean, we'd go to parties our friends' families were having, and my parents would usually host one, but I think my mother always saw it more as a networking opportunity than some joyous celebration of life. And we never did our own baking for it, I can tell you that." She finishes zesting the orange and slides the bowl over toward him. "What next?" 

"We need two eggs whisked," Quinn tells her, and she nods and grabs a clean bowl, cracking the eggs into it one-handed. Quinn finishes with the dry ingredients and moves on to start butter and sugar going in the mixer. Over the low hum, he comments, "We were never really a baking household either. My mother used to order everything from a bakery in Kaas City." With a wry smile, he adds, "I remember I asked her once if we could make cookies, and she asked if I thought it made more sense to spend all that effort on something that may not even turn out right, or just pay a professional to do it right the first time."

Ruqi gives him a companionable nudge as she brings the eggs over, and he leans into her for a moment. "Not that I don't remember those bakery treats fondly. In fact, quite a few of the recipes I use now are based on theirs."

He adds the eggs and orange zest to the mixture, and Ruqi leans her elbows on the counter and just watches him for a few moments, smiling at the look of concentration on his face. "So when _did_ you start baking?"

"In the military, actually. My first posting away from Dromund Kaas, when I realized the only Life Day treats to be had were what we could provide for ourselves." He pauses the mixer to scrape the sides and bottom of the bowl with a spatula, then says with a self-deprecating smile, "So I volunteered to bake for my unit...and made an extremely lackluster glaze cake and cookies that came out so dry we might as well have shipped them in directly from Tatooine. The next time I was on leave, I signed up for a baking class."

Ruqi reaches out to swipe some batter, getting a fingerful before Quinn waves her off with the spatula. She pops it in her mouth and hums with pleasure, licking her finger clean before she says, "A good investment, I'd say."

"I've always found it so," he says as he starts the mixer again. "The more I baked, the more I found I enjoyed it. It's...consistent. Reliable." He's looking down as he speaks, watching the beaters whirring around with a thoughtful look on his face. "There are so many factors involved--timing, proportions, even the climate you're baking in--but I can know with a reasonable amount of confidence that if I add these ingredients, in this order, and bake them for that amount of time, the end product will be what I intended." He glances up to find Ruqi watching him solemnly and gives her another smile. "And then if I've done it right, that end product will cease to exist very quickly, but such is life."

"That makes sense," Ruqi says, and leans over to kiss his cheek. "And I promise not to make all of our end product cease to exist as soon as it's out of the oven. Just half, maybe."

"As ever, dearest, your restraint is appreciated," he replies, dry tone softened by his turning his head to catch the corner of her mouth with his. "We can add the dry ingredients now; grab that bowl for me?"

Ruqi holds the bowl up at an angle while he uses a spatula to fold the flour and spice mixture into the rest of the batter, a little at a time. "Now, the important part with this step," he says quietly as he works, "is to add it slowly."

Just as he says that, she tilts the bowl a bit too far and a huge clump falls into the batter, sending a cloud of flour into both their faces. They both cough, and Quinn waves a hand to clear the air. "...More slowly than that."

As bad as she feels, Ruqi can't help but laugh; there's flour settling in his hair and eyebrows, and she's sure she has her own dusting of it as well. "Oh, I'm sorry," she says, setting down the bowl and reaching to dust him off.

Quinn catches her hands in his, bringing them to his mouth to kiss her fingers. "That's the other thing about baking," he tells her, clearly amused. "Even when you know what you're doing, you have to be prepared for mishaps." 

Still chagrined, she looks back at the mixer and the loose flour now scattered around the lip of the bowl, a little bit on the counter as well. "Are we all right? I didn't just waste too much flour, did I?"

"It'll be fine," Quinn assures her, picking up the spatula again and doing what he can to knock the flour on the rim of the bowl into the batter. "And if it's not, we'll just have to make another batch."


End file.
